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RATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


BY 

f 

J 

i 

'  '  !■ 

WILLIAM  MATHEWS,  LL.D., 

AUTHOR  OF  “GETTING  ON  IN  THE  WORLD,”  “THE  GREAT  CONVERSERS,” 

“words;  their  use  and  abuse,”  etc.  ETC. 


I 

L’eloquence  est  le  talent  d’imprimer  avec  force,  et  de  faire  passer  avec 
rapidite,  dans  l'ame  des  antres  le  sentiment  profond  dont  on  est  penetre. 

D’Alembert. 

Criticism  is  nearly  useless,  unless  the  critic  quotes  innumerable  examples. 

David  Hume. 


NINTH  THOUSAND 


CHICAGO: 

S.  C.  GRIGGS  AND  COMPANY, 

1883. 


Copyright,  1878, 


By  S.  C.  GRIGGS  AND  COMPANY. 


I  KNIGHTST  LEONARD  I 


' 


1 


' 


POWER  AND  INFLUENCE  OF  THE  ORATOR.  1;> 


blotches,  the  eagle  eye  that  dismayed  with  a  look,  the 
voice  of  thunder  that  dared  a  reply,  the  hair  that  waved 
like  a  lion’s  mane.  The  ruling  spirit  of  the  French  Revo¬ 
lution,  he  did,  while  he  lived,  more  than  any  other  man, 

“  to  guide  the  whirlwind  and  direct  the  storm  of  that 
political  and  social  crisis.  When  the  clergy  and  the  no¬ 
bles  obeyed  the  royal  mandate  that  the  National  Assem¬ 
bly  should  disperse,  and  the  commons  remained  hesitat¬ 
ing,  uncertain,  almost  in  consternation,  it  was  his  voice 
that  hurled  defiance  at  the  King,  and  inspired  the  Tiers- 
Etcit  with  courage.  When  he  cried  out  to  the  astonished 
emissary  of  Lewis:  “Slave,  go  tell  your  master  that  we 
are  here  by  the  will  of  the  people,  and  that  we  will  de¬ 
part  only  at  the  point  of  the  bayonet!”  the  words 
sounded  like  a  thunder-clap  to  all  Europe,  and  from  that 
moment  the  bondage  of  the  nation  was  broken,  aitd  the 
fate  of  despotism  sealed.*  Startling  the  critics  of  the 
Academy  by  his  bold,  straight-forward  style  of  oratory,  so_ 
opposed  to  the  stiff,  conventional  manner  of  the  day,  he 
showed  them  that  there  was  “a  power  of  life”  in  his 
rude  and  startling  language, —  that  the  most  common¬ 
place  ideas  could  be  endowed  with  electric  power;  and, 
had  he  not  died  prematurely,  he  might,  perhaps,  have 
dissuaded  France  from  plunging  into  the  gulf  of  anar¬ 
chy,  and  shown  a  genius  for  reconstruction  only  inferior 
to  that  which  he  had  displayed  as  a  destroyer. 

Among  the  most  memorable  displays  of  oratory,  few 
ai  e  more  familiar  to  the  ordinary  reader  than  those  which 
took  place  during  the  trial  of  Warren  Hastings  in  West- 
I  minster  Hall.  It  is  said  that  when  Burke,  with  an  im- 

*  It  is  pretty  certain  that  the  language  actually  used  by  Mirabeau  was  less 
jj  terse  and  audacious  than  this:  we  give  the  current  \ersion. 


15S  3 


16 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


agination  almost  as  oriental  as  the  scenes  he  depicted, 
described,  in  words  that  will  live  as  long  as  the  English 
language,  the  cruelties  inflicted  upon  the  natives  of  India 
by  Debi  Sing,  one  of  Hastings’s  agents,  a  convulsive  shud¬ 
der  ran  through  the  whole  assembly.  Indignation  and 
rage  filled  the  breasts  of  his  hearers;  some  of  the  ladies 
“swooned  away’’;  and  Hastings  himself,  though  he  had 
protested  his  innocence,  was  utterly  overwhelmed.  “  For 
half  an  hour,”  he  said  afterward  in  describing  the  scene, 
“  I  looked  up  at  the  orator  in  a  revery  of  wonder,  and 
actually  felt  myself  to  be  the  most  culpable  man  on 
earth.” — When  Canning,  in  1826,  closed  his  famous  speech 
on  the  King’s  Message  respecting  Portugal  with  the  mem¬ 
orable  passage:  “I  looked  to  Spain  in  the  Indies;  I  called 
a  New  World  into  existence  to  redress  the  balance  of  the 
Old,”  the  effect,  we  are  told,  was  terrific.  The  whole 
House  was  moved  as  if  an  electric  shock  had  passvd 
through  them :  they  all  rose  for  a  moment  to  look  at 
him !  I 

A  memorable  example  of  the  power  of  eloquence  is 
furnished  by  the  speech  of  Lord  Stanley  (afterward  /the 
Earl  of  Derby)  on  the  Irish  Coercion  Bill,  brought  into  I  the 
House  of  Commons  in  1833.  O’Connell  had  made  a  pow¬ 
erful  speech  in  opposition,  and  seemed,  says  Lord  E!us- 
sell  (to  whom  we  are  indebted  for  an  account  of  t  he 
scene),  about  to  achieve  a  triumph  in  favor  of  sedition 
and  anarchy.  Lord  Derby,  in  his  reply,  recalled  to  the 
recollection  of  the  House  of  Commons  that,  at  a  recent 
public  meeting,  O’Connell  had  spoken  of  the  House  /of 
Commons  as  658  scoundrels.  “In  a  tempest  of  scorn 
and  indignation,”  says  Lord  Russell,  “  he  excited  the  a  n- 
ger  of  the  men  thus  designated  against  the  author  of 


POWER  AND  INFLUENCE  OF  THE  ORATOR.  17 

the  calumny.'  The  House  which  for  two  hours  before 
seemed  about  to  yield  to  the  great  agitator,  was  now  al¬ 
most  ready  to  tear  him  to  pieces.  In  the  midst  of  the 
storm  which  his  eloquence  had  raised,  he  (Lord  Stanley) 
sat  down,  having  achieved  one  of  the  greatest  triumphs 
of  eloquence  ever  won  in  a  popular  assembly  by  the  pow¬ 
ers  of  oratory.” 

In  our  own  country  the  triumphs  of  eloquence  have 
been  hardly  less  marked  than  those  of  the  Old  World. 
In  the  night  of  tyranny  the  eloquence  of  the  country  first 
blazed  up,  like  the  lighted  signal-fires  of  a  distracted 
border,  to  startle  and  enlighten  the  community.  Every¬ 
where,  as  the  news  of  some  fresh  invasion  of  liberty  and 
1  right  was  borne  on  the  wings  of  the  wind,  men  ran  to¬ 
gether  and  called  upon  some  earnest  citizen  to  address 
them.  The  eloquence  of  that  period  was  not  the  mere 
ebullition  of  feeling;  it  was  the  enthusiasm  of  reason;  it 
was  judgment  raised  into  transport,  and  breathing  the 
irresistible  ardors  of  sympathy. 

When  in  1761  James  Otis,  in  a  Boston  popular  assem¬ 
bly,  denounced  the  British  Writs  of  Assistance,  his  hearers 
were  hurried  away  resistlessly  on  the  torrent  of  his  im¬ 
petuous  speech.  When  he  had  concluded,  every  man,  we 
are  told,  of  the  vast  audience  went  away  resolved  to  take  up 
arms  against  the  illegality.  When  Patrick  Henry  pleaded 
the  tobacco  case  “against  the  parsons”  in  1758,  it  is  said 
that  the  people  might  have  been  seen  in  every  part  of  the. 
house,  on  the  benches,  in  the  aisles,  and  in  the  windows, 
hushed  in  death-like  stillness,  and  bending  eagerly  for¬ 
ward  to  catch  the  magic  tones  of  the  speaker.  The  jury 
were  so  bewildered  as  to  lose  sight  of  the  legislative  enact¬ 
ments  on  which  the  plaintiffs  relied;  the  court  lost  the 


18 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


equipoise  of  its  judgment,  and  refused  a  new  trial;  and 
the  people,  who  could  scarcely  keep  their  hands  off  their 
champion  after  he  had  closed  his  harangue,  no  sooner  saw 
that  he  was  victorious,  than  they  seized  him  at  the  bar, 
and,  in  spite  of  his  own  efforts,  and  the  continued  cry  of 
“Order!1'  from  the  sheriff  and  the  court,  bore  him  out  of 
the  court-house,  and,  raising  him  on  their  shoulders,  car¬ 
ried  him  about  the  yard  in  a  kind  of  electioneering  tri¬ 
umph.  When  the  same  great  orator  concluded  his  well- 
known  speech  in  March,  1775,  in  behalf  of  American 
independence,  “  no  murmur  of  applause  followed,11  says 
his  biographer;  “the  effect  was  too  deep.  After  the  trance 
of  a  moment,  several  members  of  the  Assembly  started 
from  their  seats.  The  cry,  To  arms!  seemed  to  quiver 
on  every  lip  and  glance  from  every  eye.11 — Mr.  Jefferson, 
who  drew  up  the  Declaration  of  Independence,  declares 
that  John  Adams,  its  ablest  advocate  on  the  floor  of  Con¬ 
gress,  poured  forth  his  passionate  appeals  in  language 
“  which  moved  his  hearers  from  their  seats.11 

There  are  few  school-boys  who  are  not  familiar  with 
the  famous  passage  in  the  great  speech  of  Fisher  Ames 
on  the  British  Treaty,  in  which  he  depicts  the  horrors  of 
the  border  war  with  the  Indians,  which  would  result  from 
its  rejection.  Even  when  we  read  these  glowing  periods 
to-day  in  cold  blood,  without  the  tremulous  and  thrilling 
accents  of  the  dying  statesman,  that  made  them  so  im¬ 
pressive,  we  feel  the  “fine  frenzy11  of  the  speaker  in  every 
line.  An  old  man,  a  judge- in  Maine,  who  heard  the  burn¬ 
ing  words  of  Ames,  declared  that  as  he  closed  with  the 
climax,  “  The  darkness  of  midnight  will  glitter  with  the 
blaze  of  your  dwellings.  You  are  a  father, —  the  blooc  of 
your  sons  shall  fatten  your  corn-field :  you  are  a  mother, — 


POWER  AND  INFLUENCE  OF  THE  ORATOR. 


19 


the  war-whoop  shall  wake  the  sleep  of  the  cradle,” — the 
prophecy  seemed  for  a  moment  a  reality.  “  I  shuddered 
and  looked  a  little  behind  me;  for  I  fancied  a  big  Indian 
with  an  uplifted  tomahawk  over  me.” 

William  Wirt,  himself  an  orator,  tells  us  that  when 
the  “Blind  Preacher  of  Virginia”  drew  a  picture  of  the 
trial,  crucifixion,  and  death  of  our  Savior,  there  was  such 
force  and  pathos  in  the  description  that  the  original  scene 
appeared  to  be,  at  that  moment,  acting  before  the  hearers' 
eyes.  “We  saw  the  very  faces  of  the  Jews:  the  staring, 
frightful ,  distortions  of  malice  and  rage.  We  saw  the 
buffet;  my  soul  kindled  with  a  flame  of  indignation;  and 
my  hands  were  involuntarily  and  convulsively  clinched.” 
But  when,  with  faltering  voice,  he  came  to  touch  on  the 
patience,  the  forgiving  meekness  of  the  Savior,  his  prayer 
for  pardon  of  his  enemies,  “  the  effect  was  inconceivable. 
The  whole  house  resounded  with  the  mingled  groans,  and 
sobs,  and  shrieks  of  the  congregation.” 

The  accounts  given  of  the  effects  wrought  by  some  of 
Daniel  Webster’s  speeches,  seem  almost  incredible  to  those 
who  never  have  listened  to  his  clarion-like  voice  and 
weighty  words.  Yet  even  now,  as  we  read  some  of  the 
stirring  passages  in  his  early  discourses,  we  can  hardly 
realize  that  we  are  not  standing  by  as  he  strangles  the 
reluctantes  dracones  of  an  adversary,  or  actually  looking 
upon  the  scenes  in  American  history  which  he  so  vividly 
describes.  Prof.  Ticknor,  speaking  in  one  of  his  letters 
of  the  intense  excitement  with  which  he  listened  to  Web¬ 
ster’s  Plymouth  Address,  says:  “Three  or  four  times  I 
thought  my  temples  would  burst  with  the  gush  of  blood; 
for,  after  all,  you  must  know  that  I  am  aware  it  is  no 
connected  and  compacted  whole,  but  a  collection  of  won- 


20 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


derful  fragments  of  burning  eloquence,  to  which  his  mari¬ 
ner  gave  tenfold  force.  When  I  came  out,  I  was  almost 
afraid  to  come  near  to  him.  It  seemed  to  me  that  he  was 
like  the  mount  that  might  not  be  touched,  and  that  burned 
with  fire.” 

As  it  was  the  eloquence  of  Hamilton,  spoken  and  writ¬ 
ten,  which,  in  no  small  degree,  established  our  political 
system,  so  it  was  the  eloquence  of  Webster  that  mainly 
defended  and  saved  it:  — 

“  Duo  fulmina  belli, 

Scipiadas,  cladem  Libyae.” 

When  the  Federal  Constitution,  the  product  of  so  much 

sacrifice  and  toil,  was  menaced  bv  the  Nullifiers  of 

7  «/ 

% 

South  Carolina,  it  was  the  great  orator  of  Massachusetts 
that  sprang  to  its  rescue.  'As  the  champion  of  New  Eng¬ 
land  closed  the  memorable  peroration  of  his  reply  to 
Hayne,  the  silence  of  death  rested  upon  the  crowded 
Senate  Chamber.  Hands  remained  clasped,  faces  fixed 
and  rigid,  and  eyes  tearful,  while  the  sharp  rap  of  the 
President’s  hammer  could  hardly  awaken  the  audience 
from  the  trance  into  which  the  orator  had  thrown  them. 
When,  again,  over  thirty  years  later,  Nullification  once 
more  raised  its  front,  and  stood  forth  armed  for  a  long 
and  desperate  conflict,  it  was  the  ignited  logic  of  the 
same  Defender  of  the  Constitution, —  the  burning  and  en¬ 
thusiastic  appeals  for  “Liberty  and  Union,  now  and  for¬ 
ever,  one  and  inseparable,”  —  which,  still  echoing  in  the 
memories  of  the  people,  roused  them  as  by  a  bugle-blast 
to  resistance.  It  was  because  Webster,  when  living,  had 
indoctrinated  the  whole  North  with  his  views  of  the 
structure  of  our  government,  that,  when  his  bones  lay 
mouldering  at  Marshfield,  the  whole  North  was  ready  to 


POWER  AND  INFLUENCE  OF  THE  ORATOR.  21 

fight  as  one  man  against  the  heresy  of  Secession.  The 
idol  of  the  American  youth,  at  the  stage  of  their  culture 
when  eloquence  exerts  its  most  powerful  fascination,  he 
had  infused  into  their  hearts  such  a  sentiment  of  nation¬ 
ality,  that  they  sprang  to  arms  with  a  determination  to 
shed  the  last  drop  of  their  blood,  rather  than  see  a  single 
star  effaced  from  the  ample  folds  of  the  national  flag. 
Who  has  forgotten  the  potent  enchantment  worked  by 
the  same  voice  in  Faneuil  Hall,  after  the  odious  Com¬ 
promise  Act  of  1850?  The  orator  who  had  been  adored 
as  “  godlike,”  and  whose  appearance  had  been  a  signal 
for  a  universal  outburst  of  enthusiasm, —  the  orator  upon 
whom  New  England  had  been  proud  to  lavish  its  honors, 
was  now  received  with  frowning  looks  and  sullen  indig¬ 
nation;  yet  “never,”  says  the  poet  Lowell,  “did  we  en¬ 
counter  a  harder  task  than  to  escape  the  fascination  of 
that  magnetic  presence  of  the  man,  which  worked  so  po¬ 
tently  to  charm  the  mind  from  a  judicial  serenity  to  an 
admiring  enthusiasm.  There  he  stood,  the  lion  at  bay; 
and  that  one  man,  with  his  ponderous  forehead,  his 
sharp,  cliff-edged  brows,  his  brooding,  thunderous  eyes, 
his  Mirabeau  mane  of  hair,  and  all  the  other  nameless 
attributes  of  his  lion-like  port,  seemed  enough  to  over¬ 
balance  and  outweigh  that  great  multitude  of  men,  who 
came  as  accusers,  but  remained,  so  to  speak,  as  captives, 
swayed  to  and  fro  by  his  aroused  energy  as  the  facile 
grain  is  turned  hither  and  thither  in  mimic  surges  by 
the  strong  wind  that  runs  before  the  thundergust.” 

With  the  triumphs  of  sacred  oratory  it  would  be  easy 
to  fill  a  volume.  Not  to  go  back  to  the  days  of  John 
the  Baptist,  or  to  those  of  Paul  and  Peter,  whose  words 
are  the  very  flame-breath  of  the  Almighty, —  nor  even  to 


I 


22  ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 

the  days  of  Chrysostom,  the  golden-mouthed,  who,  when, 
like  another  Elijah,  or  John  the  Baptist  risen  from  the 
dead,  he  reappeared  among  his  townsmen  of  Antioch, 
after  the  austerities  in  the  desert  to  which  his  disgust  at 
their  licentiousness  had  driven  him,  .denounced  their  bac¬ 
chanalian  orgies  in  words  that  made  their  cheeks  tingle, 
and  sent  them  panic-stricken  to  their  homes, —  who  is 
not  familiar  with  the  miracles  which  Christian  eloquence 
has  wrought  in  modern  times?  Who  has  forgotten  the 
story  of  “  the  priest,  patriot,  martyr,”  Savonarola,  crying 
evermore  to  the  people  of  Florence,  “Heu!  fuge  crudelas 
terras,  fuge  littus  avarum!  ”  Who  is  ignorant  of  the  mighty 
changes,  ecclesiastic  and  political,  produced  by  the  blunt 
words  of  Latimer,  the  fiery  appeals  of  WyclifFe,  the  stern 
denunciations  of  Knox?  Or  what  ruler  of  men  ever  sub¬ 
jugated  them  more  effectually  by  his  sceptre  than  Chal¬ 
mers,  who  gave  law  from  his  pulpit  for  thirty  years ;  who 
hushed  the  frivolity  of  the  modern  Babylon,  and  melted  the 
souls  of  the  French  philosophers  in  a  half-known  tongue; 
who  drew  tears  from  dukes  and  duchesses,  and  made 

princes  of  the  blood  and  bishops  start  to  their  feet,  and 
break  out  into  rounds  of  the  wildest  applause? 

What  cultivated  man  needs  to  be  told  of  the  sweet 

persuasion  that  dwelt  upon  the  tongue  of  the  swan 

of  Cambray,  the  alternating  religious  joy  and  terror  in¬ 
spired  by  the  silvery  cadence  and  polished  phrase  of 

Massillon,  or  the  resistless  conviction  that  followed  the 
argumentative  strategy  of  Bourdaloue, —  a  mode  of  attack 
upon  error  and  sin  which  was  so  illustrative  of  the  imper- 
citoria  virtus  of  Quintilian,  that  the  great  Conde  cried  out 
once,  as  the  Jesuit  mounted  the  pulpit,  “  Silence ,  Messieurs, 
void  Vennemi !"  What  schoolboy  is  not  familiar  with  the 


POWER  AND  INFLUENCE  OF  THE  ORATOR.  23 

religions  terror  with  which,  in  his  oraisons  funebres ,  the 
“  Demosthenes  of  the  pulpit,"  Bossuet,  thrilled  the  breasts 
of  seigneurs  and  princesses,  and  even  the  breast  of  that 
King  before  whom  other  kings  trembled  and  knelt,  when, 
taking  for  his  text  the  words,  “  Be  wise,  therefore,  0  ye 
kings!  be  instructed,  ye  judges  of  the  earth!”  he  un¬ 
veiled  to  his  auditors  the  awful  reality  of  God  the  Lord 
of  all  empires,  the  chastiser  of  princes,  reigning  above 
the  heavens,  making  and  unmaking  kingdoms,  principal¬ 
ities  and  powers;  or,  again,  with  the  fire  of  a  lyric  poet 
and  the  zeal  of  a  prophet,  called  on  nations,  princes,  no¬ 
bles,  and  warriors,  to  come  to  the  foot  of  the  catafalque 
which  strove  to  raise  to  heaven  a  magnificent  testimony 
of  the  nothingness  of  man?  At  the  beginning  of  his  dis¬ 
courses,  the  action  of  “  the  eagle  of  Meaux,”  we  are  told, 
was  dignified  and  reserved;  he  confined  himself  to  the 
notes  before  him.  Gradually  “  he  warmed  with  his  theme, 
the  contagion  of  his  enthusiasm  seized  his  hearers;  he 
watched  their  rising  emotion ;  the  rooted  glances  of  a 
thousand  eyes  filled  him  with  a  sort  of  divine  frenzy;  his 
notes  became  a  burden  and  a  hindrance;  with  impetuous 
ardor  he  abandoned  himself  to  the  inspiration  of  the  mo¬ 
ment;  with  the  eyes  of  the  soul  he  watched  the  swelling 
hearts  of  his  hearers;  their  concentrated  emotions  became 
his  own;  he  felt  within  himself  the  collected  might  of 
the  orators  and  martyrs  whose  collected  essence,  by  long 
and  repeated  communion,  he  had  absorbed  into  himself; 
from  flight  to  flight  he  ascended,  until,  with  unflagging- 
energy,  he  towered  straight  upwards,  and  dragged  the 
rapt  contemplation  of  his  audience  along  with  him  in  its 
ethereal  flight.”  At  such  times,  says  the  Abb6  Le  Dieu, 
it  seemed  as  though  the  heavens  were  open,  and  celestial 


24 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


joys  were  about  to  descend  upon  these  trembling  souls, 
like  tongues  of  fire  on  the  day  of  Pentecost.  At  other 
times,  heads  bowed  down  with  humiliation,  or  pale  up¬ 
turned  faces  and  streaming  eyes,  lips  parted  with  broken 
ejaculations  of  despair,  silently  testified  that  the  spirit  of 
repentance  had  breathed  on  many  a  hardened  heart. 

There  is  a  story  told  of  a  French  Abbe,  that  he  preached 
a  sermon,  on  a  certain  Sunday,  of  such  power  that  his 
appalled  people  went  home,  put  up  the  shutters  of  their 
shops,  and  for  three  days  gave  themselves  up  to  utter  de¬ 
spair.  Jonathan  Edwards,  the  Calvinistic  divine,  preached 
sermons  of  such  force  that,  under  the  lash  of  his  fiery 
denunciation,  men  cried  out  in  agony,  and  women  rose  up 
in  their  seats.  There  have  been  other  preachers  who,  in 
moments  of  general  misery,  have  had  equal  power  of  turn¬ 
ing  the  wailing  of  their  people  into  bursts  of  thankfulness 
and  joy.  “I  have  heard  it  reported,”  says  Emerson,  “of 
an  eloquent  preacher  whose  voice  is  not  forgotten  in  this 
city  (Boston),  that,  on  occasions  of  death  or  tragic  disaster 
which  overspread  the  congregation  with  gloom,  he  ascended 
the  pulpit  with  more  than  his  usual  alacrity,  and,  turning 
to  his  favorite  lessons  of  devout  and  jubilant  thankful¬ 
ness, — ‘Let  us  praise  the  Lord,’ — carried  audience,  mourn¬ 
ers,  and  mourning  along  with  him,  and  swept  away  all  the 
impertinence  of  private  sorrow  with  his  hosannas  and 
songs  of  praise.” 

In  our  own  day  the  triumphs  of  eloquence,  though  of 
a  different  kind  from  those  of  yore,  are  hardly  less  signal 
than  in  the  ages  past.  We  doubt,  on  the  whole,  if  the 
orator  was  ever  tempted  by  brighter  laurels,  or  had  a 
grander  field  for  the  exercise  of  his  art.  We  live  in  an 
age  of  popular  agitation,  when,  in  every  free  country,  the 


POWER  AND  INFLUENCE  OF  THE  ORATOR. 


25 


people  are  becoming  more  and  more  the  source  of  all 
power,  and  when  it  is  by  organized  and  systematic  effort, — 
by  “monster  meetings,”  and  appeals  made  to  the  constit¬ 
uencies  of  the  country,  rather  than  to  the  legislature, — 
that  great  political  changes  are  worked  out.  The  germs  of 
great  events,  the  first  motive-springs  of  change,  have  their 
origin,  no  doubt,  in  the  closet,  in  the  brains  of  men  of 
deep  thought  and  wide  observation,  who  are  not  engaged 
in  the  strife  and  turmoil  of  the  arena.  But  the  people 
are  the  great  agency  by  which  all  revolutions  and  changes 
are  accomplished,  and  the  two  great  engines  for  convincing 
and  moving  the  people  are  oratory  and  the  press.  Nevei 
before  were  the  masses  of  the  people  appealed  to  so  ear¬ 
nestly  and  systematically  as  now.  The  title,  “Agitator,” 
once  a  term  of  contempt,  has  now  become  one  of  honor, 
Look  at  England!  What  mighty  changes  have  been 
wrought  in  her  political  system  within  the  last  fifty  years 
by  the  indomitable  energy  of  the  Vincents,  the  Foxes,  the 
Cobdens,  and  scores  of  other  speakers,  who  have  traversed 
the  kingdom,  advocating  Parliamentary  Reform,  the  Repeal 
of  the  Corn-Laws,  and  other  measures  which  were  once 
deemed  utopian  and  hopeless!  Scotland,  too,  has  hardly 
yet  recovered  from  a  convulsion  which  shook  society  to  its 
foundations,  produced  by  the  eloquence  of  a  few  earnest 
men,  who  declared  that  “conscience  should  be  free.”  Who 
can  doubt  that,  in  our  own  country,  it  was  the  vehement 
and  impassioned  oratory  of  the  so-called  “anti-slavery 
fanatics,” — the  “hare-brained”  champions  of  “the  higher 
law,” — that  precipitated  the  “irrepressible  conflict”  which 
broke  the  fetters  of  the  slave,  and  thus  removed  the  most 
formidable  obstacle  to  the  complete  union  of  North  and 

South,  as  well  as  the  foulest  stain  on  our  escutcheon? 

2 


26 


ORATORY  AND  ORATOR&. 


It  is  natural  to  associate  the  gift  of  eloquence  with  a 
few  favored  lands,  and  to  imagine,  especially,  that  civilized 
communities  only  have  felt  its  influence.  But  there  is  no 
people,  except  the  very  lowest  savages,  to  whom  it  has  been 
denied.  There  is,  doubtless,  a  vast  difference  between  the 
voice  of  an  untutored  peasant,  who  never  thought  of  the 
magic  potency  dwelling  in  this  faculty,  and  who,  conse¬ 
quently,  addresses  his  fellows  in  loud  and  discordant  tones, 
and  that  of  the  man  who,  with  an  educated  mind  and  a 
cultivated  taste,  understands  and  uses  his  voice  as  Handel 
understood  and  used  the  organ;  yet  there  are  examples  of 
eloquence  in  the  speeches  of  Logan  and  Red  Jacket,  and 
other  aborigines  of  America,  that  will  live  in  the  story  of 
that  abused  race  as  long  as  the  trees  wave  in  their  forests, 
or  the  winds  sigh  among  their  mountains.  Sir  Francis 
Head,  in  narrating  the  proceedings  of  a  council  of  Red 
Indians  which  he  attended  as  Governor  of  Canada,  says: 
“Nothing  can  be  more  interesting,  or  offer  to  the  civilized 
world  a  more  useful  lesson,  than  the  manner  in  which  the 
red  aborigines  of  America,  without  ever  interrupting  each 
other,  conduct  their  councils.  The  calm  dignity  of  their 
demeanor, —  the  scientific  manner  in  which  they  progress¬ 
ively  construct  the  framework  of  whatever  subject  they 
undertake  to  explain, —  the  sound  argument  by  which  they 
connect,  as  well  as  support  it, —  and  the  beautiful  wild- 
flowers  of  eloquence  with  which  they  adorn  every  portion 
of  the  moral  architecture  they  are  constructing, —  form 
altogether  an  exhibition  of  grave  interest;  and  yet  these 
■  orators  are  men  whose  lips  and  gums  are,  while  they  are 
speaking,  black  from  the  berries  on  which  they  subsist.” 

As  we  conclude  this  chapter,  a  sad  thought  presses  it¬ 
self  upon  the  mind  touching  that  eloquence  whose  magic 


POWER  AND  INFLUENCE  OF  THE  ORATOR. 


27 


effects  we  have  so  faintly  depicted;  it  is  that  it  is  so  per¬ 
ishable.  Of  all  the  great  products  of  creative  art,  it  is 
the  only  one  that  does  not  survive  the  creator.  We  read 
a  discourse  which  is  said  to  have  enchanted  all  who 
heard  it,  and  how  “shrunken  and  wooden”  do  we  find 
its  image,  compared  with  the  conception  we  had  formed! 
The  orator  who  lashed  himself  into  a  foam, — whose  speech 
drove  on  in  a  fiery  sleet  of  words  and  images, —  now 
seems 

‘'Dull  as  the  lake  that  slumbers  in  the  storm,” 

and  we  can  scarcely  credit  the  reports  of  his  frenzy. 
The  picture  from  the  great  master’s  hand  may  improve 
with  age;  every  year  may  add  to  the  mellowness  of  its 
tints,  the  delicacy  of  its  colors.  The  Cupid  of  Praxiteles, 
the  Mercury  of  Thorwaldsen,  are  as  perfect  as  when  they 
came  from  the  sculptor’s  chisel.  The  dome  of  Saint 
Peter’s,  the  self-poised  roof  of  King’s  Chapel,  “  scooped 
into  ten  thousand  cells,”  the  fagade  and  sky-piercing 
spire  of  Strasbourg  Cathedral,  are  a  perpetual  memorial 
of  the  genius  of  their  builders.  Even  music,  so  far  as  it 
is  a  creation  of  the  composer,  may  live  forever.  The  aria 
or  cavatina  may  have  successive  resurrections  from  its 
dead  signs.  The  delicious  melodies  of  Schubert,  and  even 
Handel’s  “seven-fold  chorus  of  hallelujahs  and  harping 
symphonies,”  may  be  reproduced  by  new  artists  from  age 
to  age.  But  oratory,  in  its  grandest  or  most  bewitching 
manifestations, —  the  detvo res  of  Demosthenes,  contending 
for  the  crown, —  the  white  heat  of  Cicero  inveighing 
against  Antony, —  the  glaring  eye  and  thunder  tones  of 
Chatham  denouncing  the  employment  of  Indians  in  war, 
—  the  winged  flame  of  Curran  blasting  the  pimps  and 
informers  that  would  rob  Orr  of  his  life, —  the  nest  of 


28 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


singing-birds  in  Prentiss’s  throat,  as  lie  holds  spell-bound 
the  thousands  in  Faneuil  Hall, —  the  look,  port,  and  voice 
of  Webster,  as  he  hurls  his  thunderbolts  at  Hayne, —  all 
these  can  no  more  be  reproduced  than  the  song  of  the 
sirens. 

The  words  of  a  masterpiece  of  oratorical  genius  may  be 
caught  by  the  quick  ear  of  the  reporter,  and  jotted  down 
with  literal  exactness,  not  a  preposition  being  out  of 
place,  not  an  interjection  wanting;  but  the  attitude  and 
the  look,  the  voice  and  the  gesture,  are  lost  forever.  As 
well  might  you  attempt  to  paint  the  lightning’s  flash,  as 
to  paint  the  piercing  glance  which,  for  an  instant,  from 
the  great  orator’s  eyes,  darts  into  your  very  soul,  or  to 
catch  the  mystic,  wizard  tones,  which  now  bewitch  you 
with  their  sweetness,  and  now  storm  the  very  citadel  of 
your  mind  and  senses.  Occasionally  a  great  discourse  is 
delivered,  which  seems  to  preserve  in  print  some  of  the 
chief  elements  of  its  power.  In  reading  Bossuet’s  thrill¬ 
ing  sermon  on  the  death  of  Madame  Henriette  Anne 
d'Angleterre,  we  seem  to  be  almost  living  in  the’  seven¬ 
teenth  century,  and  to  hear  the  terrible  cry  which  rings 
through  the  halls  of  Versailles, — “ Madame  se  meurt! 
Madame  est  morte /”  and  to  see  the  audience  sobbing 
with  veiled  faces  as  the  words  are  pronounced.  But,  in 
the  vast  majority  of  cases,  it  is  but  a  caput  mortuum 
which  the  most  cunning  stenographer  can  give  us  of  that 
which,  in  its  utterance,  so  startled  or  charmed  the 
hearer.  The  aroma,  the  finer  essences,  have  vanished, — 
only  the  dead  husk  remains.  Again,  eloquence,  as  Pitt 
said,  “  is  in  the  assembly,”  and  therefore  to  appreciate  a 
discourse,  we  must  not  only  have  heard  it  as  delivered, 
but  when  and  where  it  was  delivered,  with  all  its  accom- 


POWER  AND  INFLUENCE  OF  THE  ORATOR. 


29 


paniments,  and  with  the  temper  of  those  to  whom  it  was 
addressed.  We  need  the  “  fiery  life  of  the  moment,”  the 
contagion  of  ‘the  great  audience,  the  infectious  enthusi¬ 
asm  leaping  from  heart  to  heart,  the  shouting  thousands 
in  the  echoing  minster  or  senate.  We  need  to  see  and 
to  hear  the  magician  with  his  wand  in  his  hand,  and  on 
the  theatre  of  his  spells.  The  country  preacher,  there¬ 
fore,  was  right,  who,  when  he  had  electrified  his  people 
by  an  extempore  discourse  preached  during  a  thunder¬ 
storm,  and  was  asked  to  let  them  print  it,  replied  that 
he  would  do  so  if  they  would  print  the  thunder-storm 
along  with  it. 


CHAPTER  TI. 


IS  ORATORY  A  LOST  ART? 

TN  the  last  chapter  we  expressed  the  opinion  that  the 
triumphs  of  eloquence  in  our  own  day,  though  of  a 
different  kind  from  those  of  yore,  are  not  less  signal  than 
in  the  ages  past.  We  are  aware  that  many  persons  in 
England  and  America, —  especially  the  croakers,  laudatores 
temporis  acti,  and  believers  in  the  fabled  “golden  ages"  of 
excellence. —  will  deny  this  statement.  Talk  to  them  of  the 
eloquent  tongues  of  the  present  day, —  tell  them  how  you 
have  been  thrilled  by  the  music  of  Gladstone’s  or  Everett’s 
periods,  or  startled  by  the  thunderbolts  of  Webster, 
Brougham,  or  Bright, — and  they  will  tell  you,  with  a  sigh, 
that  the  oratory  of  their  predecessors  was  grander  and 
more  impressive.  The  golden  age  of  oratory,  they  say,  has 
gone,  and  the  age  of  iron  has  succeeded.  It  is  an  era 
of  tare  and  tret,  of  buying  and  selling,  of  quick  returns 
and  small  profits,  and  we  have  no  time  or  taste  for  fine 
phrases.  If  we  have  perfected  the  steam-engine,  and  in¬ 
vented  the  electric  telegraph  and  the  phonograph,  we  have 
also  enthroned  a  sordid,  crouching,  mammon-worshipping 
spirit  in  high  places;  we  have  deified  dullness,  and  idol¬ 
ized  cotton-spinning  and  knife-grinding,  till  oratory,  which 
always  mirrors  the  age,  has  become  timid  and  formal,  dull 
and  decorous,  never  daring  or  caring  to  soar  in  eagle 
flights,  but  content  to  creep  on  the  ground,  and  “dwell 

in  decencies  forever.’’  Hence  we  have  no  masterpieces  of 

30 


TS  ORATORY  A  LOST  ART? 


31 


eloquence  to-day  like  those  with  which  Demosthenes,  or 
Chatham,  or  Mirabeau,  awed  and  overwhelmed  their  hear¬ 
ers.  We  have  no  speeches  of  marrow  and  pith,  abounding 
in  great  truths  felicitously  expressed,  terse,  epigrammatic 
sentences,  that  stick  like  barbed  arrows  in  the  memory,  and 
magnificent  metaphors  which  only  genius  can  coin.  We 
have  plenty  of  able  debaters,  but  no  real  orators, —  no  men 
“  on  whose  tongue  the  fiery  touch  of  eloquence  has  been 
laid,  whose  lips  the  Attic  bees  have  stung  with  intensity 
and  power.”  .Go  to  the  home  of  oratory,  France,  and  you 
will  hear  the  same  melancholy  plaint.  A  late  French 
writer,  mourning  over  the  decay  of  eloquence  in  his  native 
land,  declares  that  the  present  Chambers  are  but  so  many 
little  chapels,  where  each  one  places  his  own  image  upon 
the  altar,  chants  magnificats,  and  pays  adoration  to  himself. 
The  deputies,  devoured  with  the  leprosy  of  political  mate¬ 
rialism,  are  but  manikins,  not  men.  Deputies  of  a  parish 
or  a  fraternity;  deputies  of  a  harbor,  of  a  railroad,  of  a 
canal,  of  a  vineyard;  deputies  of  sugar-cane  or  beet-root; 
deputies  of  oil  or  of  bitumen;  deputies  of  charcoal,  of  salt, 
of  iron,  of  flax;  deputies  of  bovine,  equine,  asinine  inter¬ 
ests, —  in  short,  of  everything  except  of  France,  they  repre¬ 
sent  but  obsolete  opinions,  and  are  never  heard  of  beyond 
the  range  of  their  own  voice.* 

In  every  age  we  hear  these  doleful  Jeremiads;  evermore 
the  cry  of  the  present  is,  “there  were  giants  in  those  days." 
We  are  all  more  or  less  the  victims  of  that  illusion  which 
leads  men  to  idealize  and  idolize  the  past.  It  seems  almost 
impossible  for  a  man  who  has  reached  fifty  to  escape  that 
senile  querulousness  which  leads  one  to  magnify  the  merits 
of  dead  actors  and  singers,  sculptors  and  painters,  and 


*  “  The  Orators  of  France.” 


32 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


other  artists  of  lang  syne.  “  Memory’s  geese  are  always 
swans.”  We  all  fancy  with  the  old  Count  in  Gil  Bias,  that 
the  peaches  were  much  larger  when  we  were  boys.  Burke, 
who,  we  think,  lived  in  an  age  of  giants,  spoke  of  it  as  an 
age  of  comparative  dwarfs.  There  are  persons  who  go  even 
farther  than  the  victims  of  this  hereditary  illusion;  who  not 
only  claim  for  the  orators  of  past  centuries, —  and  especially 
for  those  of  Greece  and  Rome, —  an  immeasurable  superior¬ 
ity  over  those  of  the  present  age,  but  do  not  hesitate  even 
to  assert  that  oratory  is  now  almost  a  lost  art.  The  age 
of  great  orators,  they  say,  has  gone  by,  and  such  have 
been  the  changes  in  society,  and  in  the  modes  of  .influ¬ 
encing  public  opinion,  that  the  Cicero  or  Demosthenes  of 
antiquity  is  no  more  likely  to  return  than  the  rhapsodist 
of  early  Greece  or  the  Troubadour  of  romance.  Just  as 
the  improved  artillery,  the  revolver,  and  the  repeating 
rifle,  have  rendered  swords,  sabres,  and  bayonets  cumbrous 
and  useless,  so  the  old-fashioned  formal  harangues  of  the 
British  and  American  senates  have  given  way  to  the  brief, 
business-like  speeches  of  modern  times. 

That  many  plausible  reasons  may  be  urged  for  this 
belief,  we  are  ready  to  admit.  Oratory,  like  satire,  is  fed 
by  the  vices  and  misfortunes  of  society.  Long  periods  ofA 
peace  and  prosperity,  which  quicken  the  growth  of  other 
arts,  are  in  some  respects  fatal  to  it.  Its  element  is  the 
whirlwind  and  the  storm;  and  when  society  is  upheaved 
to  its  foundations,  when  the  moral  and  political  darkness 
is  thickest,  it  shines  forth  with  the  greatest  splendor.  As 
the  science  of  medicine  would  be  useless  among  a  people 
free  from  disease,  so  if  there  were  a  Utopia  in  the  world 
free  from  crimes  and  disputes,  from  commotions  and  dis¬ 
turbances,  there  would  be  no  demand  for  oratory.  As 


IS  ORATORY  A  LOST  ART? 


33 


Tacitus,  (or  whoever  else  was  the  author  of  the  dialogue 
on  the  “  Corruptions  of  Oratory,”)  has  observed,  peace, 
no  doubt,  is  preferable  to  war,  but  it  is  the  latter  only 
that  forms  the  soldier.  “  It  is  just  the  same  with  elo¬ 
quence;  the  oftener  she  enters,  if  I  may  so  say,  the  field 
of  battle;  the  more  wounds  she  gives  and  receives;  the 
more  powerful  the  adversary  with  which  she  contends, — 
so  much  the  more  ennobled  she  appears  in  the  eye  of 
mankind.” 

It  is  a  significant  coincidence  that  the  period  when 
Athenian  oratory  was  at  its  height  was  the  period  when 
the  Athenian  character  and  the  Athenian  empire  were 
sunk  to  the  lowest  point  of  degradation.  Before  the  Per¬ 
sian  wars,  and  while  she  was  achieving  those  victories 
which  have  made  the  world  ring  with  her  name,  the  elo¬ 
quence  of  Athens  was  in  its  infancy.  At  length  the  crisis 
came.  Disunion  crept  into  her  councils;  her  provinces 
revolted;  her  tributaries  insulted  her;  her  fleets,  which 
had  won  such  dazzling  triumphs  over  the  barbarians,  fled 
before  the  enemy;  her  armies,  which  had  so  long  been 
invincible,  pined  in  the  quarries  of  Syracuse,  or  fed  the 
vultures  of  iEgospotami;  the  sceptre  passed  from  her 
hand,  and  the  sons  of  the  heroes  who  fought  at  Marathon 
were  forced  to  bow  to  the  yoke  of  a  Macedonian  king. 
It  was  now,  when  the  sun  of  her  material  prosperity  was 
setting, —  when  her  moral,  political,  and  military  character 
was  most  degraded, —  when  the  viceroy  of  a  foreign  despot 
was  giving  law  to  her  people,  and  she  was  draining  the 
cup  of  suffering  to  its  very  dregs, —  that  was  seen  the 
splendid  dawn  of  an  eloquence  such  as  the  world  never 
since  has  known. 

The  history  of  Roman  eloquence  differs  in  no  essential 


34 


ORATORY-  AND  ORATORS. 


particular  from  that  of  Greece.  It  was  not  in  the  days 
of  the  Scipios,  of  Cincinnatus,  and  of  the  Gracchi,  that 
Cicero  thundered  and  Hortensius  flashed.  It  was  when 
“the  Eternal  City”  was  convulsed  by  dissensions,  and  torn 
by  faction;  when  the  plebeians  were  arrayed  against  the 
patricians,  and  the  patricians  against  the  plebeians;  when 
demagogues  and  assassins  overawed  the  courts,  and  the 
magistrates  despaired  of  the  public  safety, — that  were  heard 
the  accents  of  that  oratory  which  has  linked  the  name  of 
Cicero  with  that  of  the  conqueror  of  iEschines.  It  was 
out  of  the  crimes  of  Catiline,  and  the  outrages  of  Verres 
and  Mark  Antony,  that  sprang  the  loftiest  eloquence  that 
shook  the  Roman  Senate,  as  it  was  the  galling  tyranny  of 
Philip  that  set  on  fire  the  genius  of  Demosthenes. 

Again,  besides  the  revolutionary  atmosphere,  there  was 
another  circumstance  which  in  the  ancient  states  stimu¬ 
lated  the  growth  of  eloquence, —  namely,  the  simplicity  of 
public  business,  as  compared  with  its  vast  extent,  com¬ 
plexity,  and  fullness  of  details,  in  modern  times.  Living, 
in  the  days  of  their  luxury,  by  the  spoliation  of  foreign 
states,  instead  of  by  the  labor  of  their  own  hands,  the 
citizens  had  leisure  for  the  consideration  of  public  ques¬ 
tions,  which  were  generally  of  the  simplest  kind.  Peace 
or  war,  vengeance  for  public  wrongs,  or  mercy  to  pros¬ 
trate  submission,  national  honor  and  national  gratitude, 
—  topics  appealing  to  the  primal  sensibilities  of  man, — 
were,  as  De  Quincey  has  observed,  the  themes  of  Greek 
and  Roman  oratory.  The  speeches  of  Demosthenes  and 
the  other  great  orators  of  antiquity  were  the  expressions 
of  intense  minds  on  subjects  of  the  deepest  moment,  and 
therefore  the  distinguishing  feature  of  their  oratory  was 
vehemence.  Speaking  on  questions  upon  whose  decision 


IS  ORATORY  A  LOST  ART? 


35 


hung  the  very  existence  of  his  country,  the  orator  could 
not  be  expected  to  speak  temperately;  he  could  not  be¬ 
lieve  that  there  were  two  sides  to  the  question,  and  that 
conflicting  views  were  equally  reconcilable  with  patriot¬ 
ism  in  those  who  held  them.  To-day  the  circumstances 
in  which  the  parliamentary  orator  is  placed  are  entirely 
different.  The  legislative  assemblies  are  deliberative 
bodies,  that  have  grave  and  weighty  business  interests 
to  deal  with,  and  hard  practical  knots  to  untie.  Nine¬ 
teen-twentieths  of  the  business  that  comes  before  them 
is  of  a  kind  that  affords  no  scope  for  eloquence.  The 
multiplicity  and  detail  of  modern  affairs,  abounding  in 
particulars  and  petty  items,  tend  to  stifle  and  suffocate  it. 

Go  into  the  British  Parliament  or  the  American  Con¬ 
gress,  and  the  theme  of  debate  will  be, — what?  In  all 
probability  a  road  or  a  bridge  bill,  a  bill  to  demonetize 
or  to  remonetize  silver,  a  bill  to  subsidize  a  steamship 
or  railway  corporation,  or  to  establish  a  new  post-route. 
A  man  who  should  discuss  these  questions  as  if  they 
were  questions  of  life  and  death,  would  only  make  him¬ 
self  a  laughing-stock.  Even  in  Queen  Caroline’s  case  the 
House  of  Lords  barely  refrained  from  laughing,  when 
Brougham  knelt  to  beseech  the  peers.  The  great  major¬ 
ity  of  the  questions  that  now  come  up  for  decision  by  our 
political  assemblies  turn  on  masses  of  fact,  antecedents  in 
blue-books,  tabulated  statistics,  which  all  necessitate  not 
only  elaborate  inquiries,  but  differences  of  opinion  after 
the  inquiries.  The  Demosthenic  vehemence  is,  therefore, 
out  of  place.  Ingenuity  and  skill,  a  happy  facility  of 
dealing  with  tangled  and  complicated  facts,  judgment, 
quickness,  tact, —  and,  along  with  these,  the  calm,  didac¬ 
tic  exposition,  the  clear,  luminous  statement,  a  treatment 


36 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


nearly  like  that  of  the  lecturer, —  are  more  efficacious 
than  the  “sound  and  fury”  of  the  ancient  orator.  The 
modern  speaker  feels  that  on  points  of  detail  it  would  be 
ridiculous  to  be  in  a  passion, —  that  on  matters  of  busi¬ 
ness  it  would  be  absurd  to  be  enthusiastic;  and  hence, 
except  on  rare  occasions,  he  deals  in  facts  rather  than  in 
fancies,  in  figures  of  arithmetic  rather  than  in  figures  of 
speech,  in  pounds,  shillings,  and  pence,  rather  than  in 
poetry.  It  was  the  opinion  of  Rufus  Choate  that  even 
Clay  and  Webster,  as  they  did  not  live  in  a  revolution¬ 
ary  age,  missed  the  greatest  agony  of  eloquence.  As  an¬ 
cient  conversation  was  more  or  less  oratorical,  so  modern 
oratory  is  more  or  less  conversational  in  its  tone.  The 
cold,  calculating,  commercial  spirit  of  the  age  jeers  at 
fine  speaking,  and  the  shrewd  speaker,  therefore,  suggests 
rather  than  elaborates,  talks  rather  than  declaims.  The 
light  touch  of  Peel,  Palmerston,  or  Wendell  Phillips,  is 
more  effective  than  the  rounded  periods  of  the  formal 
rhetorician. 

The  same  difference  extends  to  forensic  eloquence. 
Mr.  Forsyth,  the  author  of  “  Hortensius,”  has  justly  as¬ 
cribed  its  decay  in  England  to  the  excessive  technicality 
which  pervades  the  law.  Nothing  can  be  more  fatal  to 
eloquence  than  attention  to  the  fine  and  hair-splitting 
distinctions  which  subtle  pleaders  delight  to  raise  and 
pettifoggers  to  maintain,  and  to  which  the  courts  of  jus¬ 
tice,  both  in  Great  Britain  and  the  United  States,  are 
too  prone  to  lend  a  ready  ear.  The  overgrown  mass,  the 
huge,  unwieldy  body  of  the  law  at  the  present  day,  is 
another  impediment  to  oratory,  hardly  less  formidable. 
How  can  a  man  be  eloquent  whose  best  days  and  hours 
are  spent  in  learning  and  digesting  the  enormous  mass 


IS  ORATORY  A  LOST  ART? 


37 


of  statutes,  with  the  myriad  decisions  upon  them,  which 
now  fill  the  thousand  volumes  upon  his  shelves?  Talents 
of  a  popular  kind,  the  power  of  giving  effect  to  large 
and  comprehensive  views,  wither  under  such  a  treatment 
as  this.  The  modern  lawyer  has  no  time  to  gather  the 
flowers  of  Parnassus.  All  the  fire,  energy,  and  enthusi¬ 
asm  of  a  young  man  with  noble  impulses, —  all  his  native 
genius  and  acquired  abilities, —  die  within  him,  overlaid 
and  smothered  by  the  forms  and  technicalities  of  a  nar¬ 
row,  crabbed,  and  barbarous  legal  system. 

On  the  other  hand,  Greek  and  Roman  pleadings,  in¬ 
stead  of  relating  to  technicalities,  to  the  construction 
of  a  statute,  or  to  facts  of  an  intricate  and  perplexing 
nature,  were  occupied  with  questions  of  elementary  jus¬ 
tice,  large  and  diffusive,  which  even  the  uninstructed 
could  understand,  and  which  connected  themselves  at 
every  step  with  powerful  and  tempestuous  feelings.  The 
judges,  instead  of  being  the  mere  interpreters  of  the  law, 
were  also  legislators.  Instead  of  being  thwarted  by  the 
cold  vigilance  of  justice  or  the  restraining  formalities  of 
practice, —  instead  of  being  hampered  by  codes,  or  ob¬ 
structed  by  precedents, —  the  pleader  appealed  boldly  to 
the  passions  and  prejudices  of  his  hearers.  To  obtain  a 
verdict  of  guilt  or  innocence,  by  invective  or  by  exaggera¬ 
tion,  by  appeals  to  public  expediency  or  by  appeals  to 
private  hate,  was  the  only  end  which  he  proposed  to  him¬ 
self.  It  was  the  universal  right  of  accusation,  that  spe¬ 
cies  of  magistracy  with  which  each  citizen  was  clothed 
for  the  protection  of  the  common  liberty,  that  produced 
under  the  Caesars  those  infamous  denunciations,  that  lu¬ 
crative  and  sanguinary  eloquence,  hicrosam  et  sanguino- 
lentam  eloquentiam ,  of  which  Tacitus  speaks. 


38 


ORATORY  A^D  ORATORS. 


In  all  the  precepts  given  by  the  ancient  orators  there 
is  supposed  a  violent,  partial,  unjust,  and  corrupt  magis¬ 
trate  who  is  to  be  won.  A  thousand  scenes  of  tumult 
intermingled  incessantly  with  the  solemnities  of  justice. 
The  forms  and  the  place  in  which  justice  was  adminis¬ 
tered;  the  character  of  the  accusations,  so  often  of  a  po¬ 
litical  nature;  the  presence  of  the  opposed  parties;  the 
throng  of  people  present, —  all  excited  and  inspired  the 
orator.  A  modern  court- room  has  little  resemblance  to 
that  public  place  in  which  were  pronounced  the  decrees 
that  abolished  the  royalties  of  Asia,  where  the  honors  of 
Rome  were  conferred,  where  laws  were  proposed  and  ab¬ 
rogated,  and  which  was  also  the  theatre  of  the  great  ju¬ 
dicial  debates.  The  objective  genius  of  antiquity,  it  has 
been  well  said,  is  nowhere  more  vividly  illustrated  than 
in  its  legal  proceedings.  “  The  contrast  between  the  for¬ 
malities  of  the  Old  Bailey  or  Westminster  Hall  and  those 
of  the  Areopagus  or  the  Forum,  could,  if  mutually  wit¬ 
nessed,  have  produced  in  their  respective  audiences  noth¬ 
ing  but  mutual  repulsion.  An  Englishman  can  have  but 
little  sympathy  with  that  sentimental  justice  that  yields 
to  the  exposure  of  a  beautiful  bosom,  and  melts  into 
tears  at  the  sight  of  a  bloody  cloak  or  a  gaping  wound. 
A  Roman  or  a  Grecian,  on  the  other  hand,  would  have 
regarded  with  supreme  disgust  the  impartial  majesty  of 
that  stern  judicature  which  saw  unpitied  the  weeping 
children  of  Strafford,  looked  unmoved  at  the  bleeding 
loins  of  Lilburne,  and  laughed  aloud  at  the  impassioned 
dagger  of  Burke.” 

Again,  not  only  was  the  stormy  atmosphere  of  ancient 
states  favorable  to  the  development  of  eloquence,  but  the 
system  of  national  education  was  adapted  to  the  same 


IS  ORATORY  A  LOST  ART  ? 


39 


end .  The  only  object  to  which  it  was  apparently  di¬ 
rected,  was  to  create  a  breed  of  national  orators.  In  the 
ages  when  the  codes  of  law  were  comparatively  simple, 
when  every  civil  and  political  result  depended  on  the  art 
with  which  the  public  speaker  mastered  and  impelled  the 

•  v 

minds  of  the  audience  or  the  judges,  when  in  fact  the 
orator  was  the  most  important  political  power  in  the 
state,  the  study  and  practice  of  oratory  were  more  neces¬ 
sary  than  in  epochs  of  more  complex  civilization ;  and 
hence  ancient  eloquence  was  more  artistic,  and  demanded 
far  more  study  than  modern.  It  was,  in  fact,  a  fine  art, 
—  an  art  regarded  by  its  cultivators  and  the  public  as 
analogous  to  sculpture,  to  poetry,  to  painting,  to  music, 
and  to  acting.  The  greatest  care,  therefore,  was  taken 
that  children  should,  first  of  all,  acquire  the  language  in 
the  utmost  purity,  and  that  an  inclination  to  the  forum 
should  be  among  their  earliest  and  strongest  preferences. 
It  was  not  by  bending  painfully  over  dog’s-eared  volumes 
that  the  Athenian  boy  gained  most  of  his  knowledge.  It 
was  by  listening  to  oral  discussion,  by  hearing  the  great 
orators  speak  from  the  bema,  by  hearkening  to  the  sages 
and  philosophers  in  the  groves  of  the  Academy,  by  fol¬ 
lowing  the  rhapsodists  in  the  streets,  or  seeing  the  plays 
of  zEschylus  and  Sophocles  in  the  theatre,  that  the  Athe¬ 
nian  citizen  was  intellectually  trained  and  instructed.  It 
was  from  all  these  sources,  but  especially  from  the  early 
habit  of  engaging  in  public  discussion,  that  he  derived 
that  fertility  of  resource,  that  copiousness  of  language, 
and  that  knowledge  of  the  temper  and  understanding  of 
an  audience,  which,  as  Macaulay  has  remarked,  are  far 
more  valuable  to  an  orator  than  the  greatest  logical 
powers. 


40 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


Again,  modem  oratory  has  been  powerfully  influenced 
by  the  printing-press,  and  by  the  great  extension  of  knowl¬ 
edge  which  it  has  caused.  When  the  only  way  of  address¬ 
ing  the  public  was  by  orations,  and  all  public  measures 
were  debated  in  popular  assemblies,  the  characters  of  Ora¬ 
tor,  Author,  Politician,  and  Editor,  almost  entirely  coin¬ 
cided.  Among  the  ancients,  it  must  be  remembered,  there 
was  no  Press  and  no  representative  system  of  government. 
Owing  to  the  small  territorial  area  of  each  state,  and  the 
limited  numbers  of  the  free  population,  each  citizen  was 
expected  to  attend  in  person  at  the  great  popular  assem¬ 
blies,  where  state  matters  were  debated;  and  so  great  was 
the  importance  which  was  attached  to  these  debates,  that, 
among  the  Greeks,  the  word  'urrjyopta,  which  etymologically 
means  “  equality  of  rights  in  debate,”  was  employed  as 
synonymous  with  u rovopta ,  which  was  used  to  express 
“  equality  in  the  eye  of  the  law.”  Indeed,  Demosthenes 
himself,  when,  in  one  of  his  orations,  he  would  vividly 
contrast  democratic  states  like  Athens  with  oligarchies 
and  tyrannies,  represents  his  countrymen  as  “  those  whose 
government  is  based  on  speaking.”  In  times  of  public 
excitement,  a  great  speech  was  a  great  dramatic  politico- 
national  event,  and  multitudes  in  Athens  and  Rome  were 
drawn  to  the  bema  and  the  rostrum  by  the  same  instincts 
that  now  lead  them  to  crowd  to  the  news-room,  and  devour 
the  leading  articles  and  the  latest  news  by  electric  tele¬ 
graph.  Demosthenes  and  Pericles  were  the  people’s  daily 
newspaper,  and  their  speeches  the  leading  articles.  The 
orator  was  at  once  the  “  Times,”  the  “  Saturday  Review,” 
the  “Edinburgh  Review,”  and  a  great  deal  more;  he  com¬ 
bined  in  himself  the  journalist,  the  debater,  the  critic,  and 
the  preacher,  all  in  one. 


IS  ORATORY  A  LOST  ART? 


41 


In  the  assembly,  the  forum,  the  portico,  and  the  garden, 
the  ancients  stood  face  to  face  with  their  great  men,  and 
drank  in  their  living  thoughts  as  they  fell  warm  from  their 
lips.  “  Look,*'  says  Tacitus,  in  the  Dialogue  already  quoted, 
“look  through  the  circle  of  the  fine  arts,  survey  the  whole 
compass  of  the  sciences,  and  tell  me  in  what  branch  can 
the  professors  acquire  a  name  to  vie  with  the  celebrity  of 
a  great  and  powerful  orator.  His  fame  does  not  depend 
on  the  opinion  of  thinking  men,  who  attend  business  and 
watch  the  administration  of  affairs;  he  is  applauded  by 
the  youth  of  Rome, —  by  all  who  hope  to  rise  by  honorable 
means.  The  eminent  orator  is  the  model  which  every 
parent  recommends  to  his  children.  Even  the  common 
people  stand  and  gaze  as  he  passes  by;  they  pronounce 
his  name  with  pleasure,  and  point  to  him  as  the  object  of 
their  admiration.  The  provinces  resound  with  his  praise. 
The  strangers  who  arrive  from  all  parts  have  heard  of 
his  genius;  they  wish  to  behold  the  man;  and  their  curi¬ 
osity  is  never  at  rest  till  they  have  seen  his  person  and 
perused  his  countenance.  Foreign  nations  court  his  friend¬ 
ship.  The  magistrates  setting  out  for  their  provinces  make 
it  their  business  to  ingratiate  themselves  with  the  popular 
speaker,  and  at  their  return  take  care  to  renew  their 
homage.  The  powerful  orator  has  no  occasion  to  solicit 
preferment, —  the  offices  of  praetor  and  consul  stand  open 
to  him, —  to  those  exalted  stations  he  is  invited.  Even  in 
the  rank  of  private  citizen  his  share  of  power  is  consider¬ 
able,  since  his  authority  sways  at  once  the  senate  and  the 
people.” 

Such  were  the  power  and  influence  of  the  orator  in 
Greece  and  Rome  till  the  one  was  conquered  and  the  other 

imperialized,  when  the  art  declined  in  both.  All  this  has 
2* 


42 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


been  changed  in  modern  times,  and  the  effect  has  been  to 
destroy,  to  a  considerable  extent,  the  distinction  between 
oratory  and  other  productions,  and  in  some  degree  to 
diminish  the  demand  for  oratory  proper.  The  political 
orator  now  speaks  less  to  those  who  are  assembled  within 
the  walls  of  Parliament  or  Congress  than  to  the  public 
outside.  His  aim,  oftentimes,  is  not  so  much  to  convince 
and  move  those  into  whose  faces  he  looks,  as  those  who 
will  peruse  his  words  on  the  printed  page.  He  knows 
that  if  a  thousand  persons  hear  him,  ten  thousand  will 
read  him.  Not  only  the  legislator,  but  the  stump  orator, 
and  even  the  advocate  on  great  occasions,  address  them¬ 
selves  to  the  reporters.  That  the  new  audience  is  of  a 
different  complexion  and  temper  from  the  old, —  that  it 
weighs  the  speaker’s  words  more  carefully  and  dispassion¬ 
ately,  and  is  influenced  more  by  his  facts  and  logic,  and 
less  by  his  appeals  to  the  passions, —  is  obvious.  The 
pugnce  quam  pompce  aptius  is  the  order  of  the  day;  and 
men  fight  now  with  the  clenched  fist,  rather  than  with  the 
open  hand, —  with  logic  more  than  with  rhetoric.  The 
magnetism  of  personal  appearance,  the  charm  of  manner, 
the  music  of  the  modulated  tone,  have  lost  their  old 
supremacy;  while  the  command  of  facts,  the  capacity  for 
“  cubic  thought,”  the  ability  to  reason,  the  power  of  con¬ 
densed  and  vivid  expression,  have  acquired  a  new  value. 
It  is  not  he  who  can  rouse,  thrill,  or  melt  his  hearers  by 
his  electric  appeals,  that  now  exercises  the  greatest  and 
most  lasting  influence,  but  he  who  can  make  the  most 
forcible  and  unanswerable  statement, —  who  can  furnish 
the  logic  of  facts,  the  watchwords  of  party,  the  shibboleths 
of  debate, —  who  can  crush  an  adversary  in  a  sentence,  or 
condense  a  policy  into  a  thundering  epigram.  A  thousand 


IS  ORATORY  A  LOST  ART? 


43 


presses  reproduce  his  words,  and  they  ring  in  the  brain 
when  the  fiery  declamation  of  the  merely  impassioned 
orator  is  forgotten. 

The  practice  of  addressing  the  reporter,  a  practice  un¬ 
known  in  the  days  of  Bolingbroke,  Chesterfield,  and  Chat¬ 
ham,  has,  in  another  wa}r,  still  farther  revolutionized  the 
style  of  public  speech-making.  As  the  best  reporters  fall 
short  of  perfect  accuracy,  many  speakers  prefer  to  be 
their  own  reporters,  in  other  words,  prepare  their  speeches 
in  manuscript;  and  now  the  custom  of  writing  out 
speeches  and  committing  them  to  memory,  is  leading  to 
that  of  reading  them.  A  large  proportion  of  the  so- 
called  “  speeches  ”  that  are  franked  by  Congressmen  to 
their  constituents,  are  “  delivered  ”  in  this  way.  Any¬ 
thing  more  fatal  to  a  speaker’s  influence, —  better  fitted 
to  stifle  every  germ  of  eloquence, —  cannot  be  imagined. 
As  Sydney  Smith  asks:  “What  can  be  more  ludicrous 
than  an  orator  delivering  stale  indignation  and  fervor 
of  a  week  old;  turning  over  whole  pages  of  violent  pas¬ 
sions,  written  out  in  German  text;  reading  the  tropes 
and  apostrophes  into  which  he  is  hurried  by  the  ardor  of 
his  mind;  and  so  affected  at  a  preconcerted  line  and 
page,  that  he  is  unable  to  proceed  any  further?”  Of 
course  there  is  a  gain,  in  such  cases,  of  precision  and 
accuracy;  but  the  form  of  the' effort  has  changed.  It  is 
not  a  speech  or  oration,  but  a  dissertation  or  essay.  The 
reception  given  by  the  House  to  such  performances  is 
just  that  which  might  be  expected.  As  they  are  not  de¬ 
signed  for  the  ear  of  that  body,  but  for  the  speaker’s 
constituency,  the  House  abandons  to  the  constituency  the 
exclusive  enjoyment  of  them.  Indeed,  some  “speeches” 
are  not  so  much  as  read  in  Congress,  but  printed  “  by 


44 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


permission  ” ;  and  during  the  Impeachment  of  President 
Johnson,  and  the  discussion  of  the  Silver  Bill,  ’a  new 
precedent  was  established  in  the  United  States  Senate, — 
that  of  “  filing  ”  arguments, —  a  “labor  limce"  of  which 
Aristarchus  and  Horace  never  dreamed.  So  strong  are 
the  tendencies  in  this  direction,  that  a  writer  has  gone 
so  far  as  to  predict  that  the  day  is  not  far  distant  when 
even  lawyers  will  submit  printed  arguments  to  judges 
and  juries,  to  be  read  and  weighed  in  the  chamber  and 
jury-room,  and  that  the  practice  of  making  long  ha¬ 
rangues  will  be  abandoned  as  tedious  and  wasteful  of 
time,  and  tending  to  mystify  and  confuse  rather  than  to 
enlighten  and  convince. 

There  is  still  another  way  in  which  oratory,  especially 
legislative  oratory,  has  been  influenced  by  the  press.  A 
century  ago,  when  the  newspaper  was  in  its  infancy,  and 
had  not  yet  aspired  to  be  an  organ  of  public  opinion, 
the  great  leaders  in  debate  had  access  to  sources  of  in¬ 
telligence  which  were  out  of  the  reach  of  the  public,  and 
even  to  most  members  of  the  legislature.  To  illumine  a 
subject  by  novel  and  original  arguments,  to  startle  his 
hearers  by  new  and  unexpected  information,  was  then 
easy  for  a  speaker;  and  if  there  was  a  political  crisis,  or 
the  question  was  a  vital  one,  he  was  listened  to  with 
breathless  interest.  It  is  said  that  not  a  little  of  the 
younger  Pitt’s  success  was  due  to  his  power  of  weight¬ 
ing  his  speeches  with  facts  known  only  to  himself,  and 
letting  out  secrets,  where  needful,  which  told  like  shells 
as  they  drop  into  an  advancing  column.  It  was  to  the 
facts  brought  to  light,  and  the  considerations  urged  in 
debate,  that  many  representatives  looked  for  the  mate¬ 
rials  by  which  to  form  their  judgments  and  to  guide 


IS  ORATORY  A  LOST  ART? 


45 


their  votes.  All  this  the  press,  with  its  unrivalled  means 
of  collecting  and  conveying  information,  has  changed. 
The  Gladstone  or  Disraeli,  the  Clay  or  Calhoun  of  the 
day,  has  no  facts  or  statistics  concerning  the  question  of 
the  hour,  which  are  not  open  to  the  humblest  citizen. 
Weeks  before  the  final  struggle  comes,  the  daily  journals 
have  sucked  up,  from  all  the  sources  of  information,  all 
the  facts,  arguments,  and  illustrations  pertinent  to  the 
subject,  like  so  many  electrical  machines  gathering  elec¬ 
tricity  from  the  atmosphere  into  themselves.  All  the 
precedents  and  parallel  cases  which  have  the  remotest 
bearing  upon  the  issue,  have  been  preempted  by  the  ed¬ 
itors  and  their  contributors;  and  when  the  unfortunate 
senator  gets  on  his  legs,  he  finds  his  arguments  antici¬ 
pated,  his  metaphors  stale,  his  “  thunder  ”  stolen,  and  his 
subject  in  the  condition  of  a  squeezed  orange. 

There  is  yet  another  circumstance  which  has  lessened 
the  influence  of  the  orator,  at  least  of  the  political  or¬ 
ator,  in  modern  times,  especially  within  the  last  century. 
It  is  the  spirit  of  party,  which  steels  men’s  minds  against 
conviction,  and  renders  his  impassioned  appeals  unavail¬ 
ing.  In  the  days  when  there  were  no  newspapers  and 
no  reporters,  the  representative  in  a  political  assembly 
was  comparatively  independent  of  his  constituents.  His 
vote  upon  a  measure  was  determined  more  or  less  by  the 
arguments  which  were  marshalled  for  or  against  it  by 
the  leaders  in  debate.  The  orator  might  then  hope  to 
produce  that  effect  which  Cicero  considered  so  honorable, 
— “  mentes  impellere  quo  velit,  unde  autem  velit  dedu- 
cere.”  Now,  the  chains  of  party  are  so  strong,  he  is  so 
cowed  by  fear  of  his  political  chiefs,  so  hampered  by  his 
fear  of  the  electors,  that  he  has  almost  ceased  to  be  a 


46 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


free  agent.  In  vain  does  the  orator  bring  forward  the 
weightiest,  the  most  unanswerable  reasons  for  a  bill;  in 
vain  does  he  urge  its  adoption  by  the  most  passionate 
appeals;  the  Opposition  laughs,  weeps,  applauds,  but  does 
not  change  its  votes.  The  men  whom  he  addresses,  at 
least  mairy  of  them,  have  held  their  political  sentiments 
till  they  have  become  rooted  in  the  very  fibres  of  their 
being.  From  their  very  childhood,  they  have  been  fed 
with  the  milk  of  radicalism,  or  nourished  on  the  strong 
meat  of  conservatism,  till  a  change  of  opinion  would  in¬ 
volve  a  change  in  their  mental  constitution.  If,  instead 
of  being  thus  steeled  against  conviction,  they  could  be 
persuaded  in  a  single  instance  by  a  hostile  orator,  they 
would  sacrifice  that  single  instance  to  the  general  prin¬ 
ciples  on  which  their  preference  is  founded.  Ferguson 
of  Pitfour,  a  Scotch  member  of  Parliament,  and  a  sup¬ 
porter  of  the  younger  Pitt,  was  a  type  of  too  many  rep¬ 
resentatives.  He  used  to  say :  “I  have  heard  many  ar¬ 
guments  which  convinced  my  judgment,  but  never  one 
that  influenced  my  vote.”  The  party  speaker  is  robbed 
of  half  of  his  eloquence,  because  he  speaks  under  an  evi¬ 
dent  restraint.  His  tone  is  not  that  of  a  bold,  independ¬ 
ent  thinker,  without  which  there  can  be  no  eloquence  of 
the  highest  order,  but  that  of  an  agent.  He  is  shackled 
by  a  consciousness  of  his  responsibility;  he  is  thinking  of 
the  pledges  of  the  last  election,  and  of  the  prospects  of 
the  next. 

That  there  has  been  a  great  change,  within  a  hundred 
years,  in  the  oratory  of  the  British  Parliament,  is  known 
to  all.  In  the  days  of  Chatham,  and  of  Fox,  Pitt,  and 
Burke,  the  mere  gift  of  eloquence  alone  was  a  passport, 
—  as  it  was  almost  the  only  passport, —  to  the  highest 


o' 


IS  ORATORY  A  LOST  ART?* 


‘ii  so  readily  r 


offices  in  the  state.  A  man  could  not  then  so  readily  ride 
into  office  on  the  shoulders  of  a  mob.  But  if  he  could  sw; 
the  House  of  Commons,  the  lack  of  other  abilities  • 
excused.  George  the  Third  used  to  say  that  Pitt  knew 
nothing  of  Vattel,  and  we  have  the  minister’s  own  state¬ 
ment  that  the  only  history  of  England  he  had  read  was 
Shakspeare.  Fox  led  the  Opposition  in  utter  ignorance 
of  political  economy,  and  Sheridan  failed  of  the  Chancel¬ 
lorship  of  the  Exchequer  only  because  he  could  not  master 
the  mystery  of  fractions.  The  speeches  made  in ''Parlia¬ 
ment  were  then  the  topics  of  common  conversation;  they 
influenced  the  votes  of  the  House;  they  startled  their 
hearers  into  admiration;  they  calmed  or  roused  the  pas¬ 
sions  of  the  country.  No  parallel  can  be  cited  in  later 
times  to  the  effect  produced  in  the  House  of  Commons 
by  Sheridan’s  famous  harangue  upon  the  “  Fourth  Charge” 
against  Warren  Hastings,  or  to  the  spell  in  which  the 
House  was  bound  by  the  elder  Pitt. 

Sir  James  Mackintosh  once  observed  that  the  true  light 


in  which  to  consider  speaking  in  the  House  of  Commons 
was  as  an  animated  conversation  on  public  business,  and 
that  it  was  rare  for  any  speech  to  succeed  which  was  raised 
on  any  other  basis.  Canning  held  a  similar  opinion.  He 
said  that  the  House  was  a  business  assembly,  and  that  the 
debates  must  conform  to  its  predominant  character;  that 
it  was  particularly  jealous  of  ornament  and  declamation, 
and  that,  if  they  were  employed  at  all,  they  must  seem 
to  spring  naturally  out  of  the  subject.  There  must  be 
method  also,  but  this  should  be  felt  in  the  effect  rather 
than  seen  in  the  manner, —  no  formal  divisions,  set  ex¬ 
ordiums,  or  perorations,  as  the  old  rhetoricians  taught, 
would  do.  First  and  last  and  everywhere  you  must  aim 


48 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


at  reasoning,  and,  if  you  would  be  eloquent,  you  might  at 
any  time,  but  not  at  an  appointed  time.  Macaulay,  in  a 
letter  to  Prof.  Whewell,  calls  the  House  “  the  most  peculiar 
audience  in  the  world.  A  place  where  Walpole  succeeded, 
and  Addison  failed;  where  Dundas  succeeded,  and  Burke 
failed;  where  Peel  now  succeeds,  and  where  Mackintosh 
fails;  where  Erskine  and  Scarlett  were  dinner-bells;  where 
Lawrence  and  Jekyll,  the  two  wittiest  men.  or  nearly 
so,  of  their  time,  were  thought  bores, —  is  surely  a  very 
strange  place.” 

If  in  the  days  of  Mackintosh  and  Canning  the  House 
hated  rhetoric,  and  was  bent  on  transacting  business, 
rather  than  on  listening  to  grand  exordiums  and  studied 
perorations,  to-day  it  is  even  more  practical,  and  more 
fiercely  intolerant  of  fine  speeches  and  abstractions.  Gov¬ 
ernment  now  takes  its  rank  among  the  sciences,  and  mere 
intellectual  cleverness,  unallied  with  experience,  informa¬ 
tion,  and  character,  has  little  weight  or  influence.  The 
leaders  of  Conservatism  and  Liberalism  are  no  longer  men 
who  have  the  art  of  manufacturing  polished  and  epigram¬ 
matic  phrases,  but  those  who  are  skilled  in  the  arts  of 
Parliamentary  fence  and  management,  and  who  have  made 
state-craft  the  study  of  their  lives.  These  men,  though 
they  hem,  and  haw  and  stammer,  and  can  hardly  put  their 
sentences  together  in  logical  order,  take  their  seats  on  the 
Treasury  bench  as  Secretaries  of  State,  while  the  mere 
orators,  who  have  no  special  experience  or  information,  sit 
on  the  back  benches  or  below  the  gangway.  Indeed,  ac¬ 
cording  to  the  testimony  of  an  able  British  reviewer,  it  has 
even  been  the  custom  of  late  to  decry  oratorical  powers,  as 
tending  to  dazzle  and  mislead,  rather  than  to  instruct  and 
to  edify;  and  to  praise  the  dull,  dry  harangue  of  the  plod- 


IS  ORATORY  A  LOST  ART? 


49 


ding  man  of  business,  who  crams  down  the  throat  of  his 
audience  a  heap  of  statistical  facts,  and  then  wonders  to 
find  his  hearers  yawning  or  asleep,  rather  than  the  brilliant 
speech  of  the  trained  orator,  who  enlivens  his  theme  with 
the  sallies  of  wit,  and  adorns  it  with  the  graces  of  imagery. 
So  great  a  change  has  taken  place,  even  within  the  last 
half  century,  that  the  House  is  now  little  more  than  a 
place  where  five  or  six  hundred  gentlemen  meet  to  do  busi¬ 
ness,  very  much  after  the  fashion  of  a  board  of  bank  di¬ 
rectors.  Disraeli,  Bright,  and  Palmer,  indulge  in  no  such 
bursts  of  oratory  as  shook  the  senate  in  the  latter  half  of 
the  eighteenth  century.  They  state  their  views  plainly, 
tersely,  with  little  preambling  and  little  embellishment; 
and  having  delivered  themselves  of  what  they  had  to  say, 
they  conclude  as  abruptly  as  they  began.  Occasionally 
speeches  of  a  more  ambitious  kind  are  heard  in  the  House; 
but  they  are  so  few  that  their  contrast  to  the  ordinary 
tone  of  the  debates  is  only  the  more  glaring. 

From  all  these  considerations  it  is  evident  that  oratory 
no  longer  occupies  the  place  which  it  once  did,  before  the 
discovery  of  “  the  art  preservative  of  arts,1'  and  the  gen¬ 
eral  diffusion  of  knowledge.  It  is  no  longer  the  onlv 
effective  weapon  of  the  statesman  and  the  reformer.  There 
are  no  potentates  now  that,  like  Philip  of  Macedon,  would 
offer  a  town  of  ten  thousand  inhabitants  for  an  orator. 
But  shall  we  therefore  hastily  conclude  that  eloquence  is 
a  useless  art, —  that  time  and  labor  spent  in  its  study  is 
wasted?  Is  it,  indeed,  true  that  the  orator’s  occupation 
has  gone, —  that  the  newspaper  has  killed  him, —  that  his 
speech  is  forestalled  by  the  daily  editorial,  which,  flying  on 
the  wings  of  steam,  addresses  fifty  thousand  men,  while  he 

speaks  to  five  hundred?  By  no  means.  Eloquence  is  not, 
3 


50 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


and  never  will  be,  a  useless  art.  In  one  form  or  another, 
it  is  immortal,  and,  so  long  as  there  are  human  hearts 
beating  with  hope  and  fear,  love  and  passionate  hatred,  can 
never  perish.  It  may  no  longer  enjoy  a  monopoly  of  influ¬ 
ence,  as  before  the  days  of  Gutenberg  and  Fust;  the  form 
and  tone  of  society  may  change,  demanding  different  styles 
of  oratory  in  different  ages;  but  wherever  human  beings 
exist  who  have  souls  to  be  thrilled,  the  public  speaker  will 
find  scope  for  the  exertion  of  his  powers.  “  Wherever,”  as 
Emerson  says,  “  the  polarities  meet,  wherever  the  fresh 
moral  sentiment,  the  instinct  of  freedom  and  duty,  comes 
in  direct  opposition  to  fossil  conservatism  and  the  thirst  of 
gain,  the  spark  will  pass.” 

Man,  in  short,  so  long  as  he  is  a  social  being,  will  never 
cease,  in  public  as  well  as  in  private,  to  talk.  Extend  the 
empire  of  the  press  to  whatever  point  you  will, —  double, 
treble,  and  quadruple  its  power, —  and  yet  the  day  will 
never  come  when  this  “  fourth  estate  of  the  nation  ”  can 
do  the  entire  work  of  the  orator.  In  every  civilized  com¬ 
munity, —  at  least,  in  every  free  country, —  it  will  still  be 
necessary  to  cite  precedents  and  analyze  testimony  and 
enforce  great  principles  in  the  courts,  to  explain  measures 
in  the  halls  of  legislation,  to  rouse  and  move  men  from 
the  platform  and  the  hustings,  and,  above  all,  to  plead  with 
men  in  the  house  of  God.  Not  a  day  passes  in  which  it  is 
not  in  the  power  of  a  persuasive  tongue  to  exert  some 
influence,  for  good  or  evil,  over  the  will,  judgments,  and 
actions  of  men;  and  so  far  is  it  from  being  true  that 
oratorical  gifts  in  this  age  are  comparatively  useless,  that 
there  is  probably  no  other  accomplishment  which,  when 
possessed  even  in  a  moderate  degree,  raises  its  possessor  to 
consideration  with  equal  rapidity,  none  for  which  there  is 


IS  ORATORY  A  LOST  ART? 


51 


a  moffr  constant  demand  in  the  senate,  at  the  bar,  on  the 
hustings,  and  in  almost  every  sphere  of  professional  labor. 
Even  should  we  admit  all  that  has  been  claimed  regarding 
the  impoverished  condition  to  which  civil  eloquence  has 
been  reduced  in  modern  times  by  the  complexity  of  busi¬ 
ness,  it  must  still  be  remembered  that,  as  De  Quincev  has 
observed,  oratory  has  received  a  new  dowry  of  power,  and 
that  of  the  highest  order,  in  the  sanctities  of  our  religion, 
a  field  unknown  to  antiquity,  since  the  Pagan  religions 
produced  no  oratory  whatever. 

Again,  it  should  be  remembered  that  the  political  plat¬ 
form  offers  a  field  of  oratory  not  inferior  to  any  it  has 
enjoyed  during  the  world’s  history.  Chained  or  muzzled 
in  the  courts,  and  scorned  in  the  legislature,  it  may  here 
spurn  the  earth  with  its  broadest  pinions,  and  wing  its 
flight,  without  let  or  hindrance,  to  the  “  highest  heaven 
of  invention.’1  The  Platform,  the  occasional  stage  of  the 
Fourth-of-July  panegyrist  and  the  Commencement  orator, 
is  the  great  theatre  of  the  agitator, —  the  stage  on  which 
reformers  and  enthusiasts  of  every  kind,  civil,  political, 
moral,  and  financial,  come  to  present  their  respective 
theories  to  the  people,  and  to  organize  those  movements, 
that  “  pressure  from  without,”  those  manufactures  of 
public  opinion,  which  are  now  relied  upon  as  the  great 
means  of  revolutionizing  legislatures  and  changing  the 
laws.  At  the  “monster  meetings”  which  are  there  ad¬ 
dressed,  the  orator  is  restricted  by  no  “  Robert’s  Manual  ” 
or  five-minute  rule,  but  can  expatiate  at  will,  convincing 
his  hearers  by  facts  and  logic,  convulsing  them  with  wit 
and  humor,  or  rousing  them  by  his  fiery  appeals,  like 
another  Antony  “  moving  the  very  stones  of  Rome  to  rise 
and  mutiny.”  Besides  this,  the  lecture-room  affords  still 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


50 

•J  tmd 


another  field  for  almost  every  species  of  eloquence, —  a 
field  which  is  more  and  more  occupied  at  each  succeeding 
year,  and  which  was  altogether  unknown  to  the  orators 
of  antiquity. 

It  is  true  there  are  no  schools  of  rhetoric  now,  in  which 
the  entire  education  of  a  young  man  is  directed  to  make 
him  an  orator.  It  is  true,  also,  that  the  style  of  speaking 
which  was  irresistible  in  an  ancient  assembly, —  an  assem- 
bly  made  up  of  men  “  educated  exactly  to  that  point  at 
which  men  are  most  susceptible  of  strong  and  sudden  im¬ 
pressions,  acute,  but  not  sound  reasoners,  warm  in  their 
feelings,  unfixed  in  their  principles,  and  passionate  admirers 
of  fine  composition," — is  not  the  most  influential  now.  The 
exclamations  and  tropes  which  produced  the  mightiest  effects 
upon  the  sensitive  populace  of  Athens  or  Rome,  would  now, 
with  whatever  modulation  or  gesture  they  might  be  de¬ 
claimed,  make  but  little  impression  upon  a  legislative 
assembly.  The  oratorical  device  by  which  Scipio  Africanus 
shook  off  a  charge  of  peculation,  would  hardly  avail  a 
modern  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer  or  Secretary  of  the 
Treasury.  If  President  Grant  had  been  impeached  before 
the  United  States  Senate,  it  would  hardly  have  helped 
his  case  to  say,  “  This  day  last  year  I  won  the  battle  of 
Chattanooga;  therefore  why  debate?”  The  day  has  gone 
by,  too,  when  the  mere  objective  features  of  oratory,  the 
statuary  'and  the  millinery,  were  as  potent  almost  as  the 
sentiments  uttered;  and  why?  Nobody  can  doubt  that,  as 
another  has  said,  if  the  ancient  oratory  were  in  demand 
now,  it  would  wake  from  the  sleep  of  two  thousand  years 
without  the  aid  of  the  rhetorician.  But  the  truth  is,  it 
is  to  the  very  superiority  of  our  civilization  to  that  of  the 
ancients,  that  the  revolution  in  oratory,  and  the  apparent 


IS  ORATORY  A  LOST  ART? 


53 


diminution  of  its  influence,  are  owing.  Instead  of  lament¬ 
ing,  we  should  rejoice  that  we  no  longer  live  on  that  vol¬ 
canic  soil  which  in  former  ages  produced  fiery  orators  in 
such  abundance.  It  is  because  society  is  no  longer  under 
the  sway  of  a  few  leading  men, —  because  revolutions, 
tumults,  and  popular  commotions,  have  ceased  to  be  the 
chief  business  of  life, —  because  knowledge  has  been  gen¬ 
erally  diffused,  men  have  learned  to  think  for  themselves, 
and  the  free  nations  of  the  earth  are  disposed  to  rest  the 
security  of  the  state  and  of  individuals  on  the  broad 
foundations  of  laws  and  institutions,  and  not  on  popular 
caprice  or  the  power  of  any  one  man,  however  wise  or 
able, —  that  modern  eloquence  has  assumed  a  character  so 
different  from  the  ancient,  and  is  regarded  by  many  as 
comparatively  cold  and  tame. 

It  is  one  of  the  proudest  distinctions  of  modern  society 
that  the  ancient  power  of  individuals  is  lessened;  that  it  is 
no  longer  possible  for  a  great  man,  by  violence  or  artful 
contrivance,  to  overthrow  a  state;  that  he  is  continually 
taught  that  the  world  can  do  without  him,  and  that,  if  he 
would  do  the  greatest  good,  he  must  combine  with  other 
men,  rather  than  be  their  master  or  dictator.  It  is  not  by 
absorbing  all  power  into  himself,  and  becoming  at  once  the 
brain,  the  tongue,  and  the  hand  of  a  whole  people,  that 
the  man  of  genius  to-day  is  to  promote  the  happiness  or 
the  glory  of  the  state  to  which  he  belongs,  but  by  an  open 
influence  on  public  opinion  and  a  wise  cooperation  with 
others,  who  are  jealous  of  their  rights,  and  will  not  place 
them  at  the  mercy  of  one  man,  however  wise  or  great. 
The  orator,  therefore,  however  rare  or  dazzling  his  gifts, 
can  no  longer  be  the  despot  that  he  once  was,  either  for 
good  or  for  evil.  It  is  no  longer  by  his  agency  chiefly  that 


54 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


public  opinion  is  formed  or  expressed,  but  by  private  dis¬ 
cussion,  by  the  interchange  of  sentiments  at  the  fireside, 
on  the  street,  at  the  exchange,  and,  above  all,  by  the  agency 
of  the  press  and  the  telegraph.  Even  the  character  of 
public  discussions  has  changed.  A  modern  debate,  it  has 
been  truly  said,  is  not  a  struggle  between  a  few  leading 
men  for  triumph  over  each  other  and  an  ignorant  multi¬ 
tude;  the  orator  himself  is  but  one  of  the  multitude, 
deliberating  with  them  upon  the  common  interests;  and, 
instead  of  coming  to  a  raw,  unenlightened  audience,  who 
have  never  weighed  the  subjects  upon  which  he  is  to  ad¬ 
dress  them,  and  who  are  ready  to  be  the  victims  of  any 
cunning  and  plausible  speaker  who  can  blind  them  by  his 
sophistry,  dazzle  them  by  his  rhetoric,  or  captivate  them  by 
his  honeyed  accents,  he  finds  that  he  is  speaking  to  men 
who  have  read,  thought,  and  pondered  upon  his  theme, 
who  have  already  decided  opinions,  and  care  less  to  hear 
his  eloquence  than  to  know  what  his  eloquence  can  do  for 
the  question. 

From  all  this  it  is  evident  that  the  demand  for  oratory 
is  not  less  than  in  former  ages,  but  that  a  different  style  of 
oratory  is  demanded.  Because  imagination  and  passion  do 
not  predominate  in  modern  eloquence,  but  hold  a  subor¬ 
dinate  place;  because  the  orator  speaks  to  the  head  as  well 
as  to  the  heart  of  his  hearers,  and  employs  facts  and  logic 
more  than  the  flowers  of  fancy;  because  his  most  fiery 
and  burning  appeals  are  pervaded  with  reason  and  argu¬ 
ment  as  well  as  with  passion,  it  by  no  means  follows  that 
his  power  is  curtailed.  As  well  might  we  conclude  that  the 
earthquake  and  the  tempest  are  the  mightiest  agencies  in 
nature  because  their  results  are  instantaneous  and  visible, 
and  that  the  gentle  rain,. the  dew,  and  the  sunshine  are 


IS  ORATORY  A  LOST  ART? 


55 


feeble  in  comparison,  because  they  work  slowly,  quietly, 
and  unseen.  Is  it  a  task  less  noble  to  convince  than  to 
inflame  mankind?  Does  a  sudden  burst  of  feeling  require 
a  greater  power  or  intensity  of  mind  than  a  long  chain  of 
reasoning?  Has  not  argument  as  well  as  explosion  its 
eloquence,  and  may  it  not  be  adorned  with  as  splendid 
illustrations  ? 

The  truth  is,  the  modern  orator  has  no  less,  perhaps 
even  more  influence,  than  the  ancient,  but  he  acts  more 
slowly  and  by  degrees.  He  wins  his  triumphs  of  convic¬ 
tion,  not  in  the  very  hour  he  speaks,  but  in  the  course  of 
weeks,  and  months,  and  years.  It  is  not  by  isolated  suc¬ 
cesses,  but  in  the  aggregate,  by  reiteration,  by  accumula¬ 
tion,  that  he  prevails.  As  an  English  writer  has  beautifully 
said,  the  enchanted  spear  is  not  without  its  place  among 
the  weapons  of  our  oratorical  armory;  but,  like  that  of 
Ariosto,  it  only  fells  the  enemy  to  the  ground,  and  leaves 
him  to  start  up  again  unwounded.  Fine  sentiments,  well 
turned  and  polished  periods,  have  still  more  or  less  of  their 
old  charm  with  our  deliberative  assemblies;  their  effects 
may  be  seen  in  the  pleased  looks,  the  profound  silence,  or 
the  applause  of  the  listeners;  but  they  are  not  seen  in  the 
final  enumeration  of  the  ayes  and  noes.  The  great  major¬ 
ity  of  the  members  contrive  to  break  the  enchanter’s  spell 
before  they  vote.  But  though  the  influence  of  individual 
speeches  may  be  comparatively  slight,  the  influence  of  the 
entire  eloquence  of  a  leading  speaker  may  be  very  great. 
The  effects  of  his  oratory  may  be  none  the  less  real,  because 
they  are  gradual  and  hardly  perceived;  none  the  less 
powerful,  because  it  is  a  slow  fire,  and  not  a  thunderbolt. 
It  has  been  justly  said  that  there  is  for  every  man  a  state¬ 
ment  possible  of  that  truth  which  he  is  most  unwilling  to 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


56 

receive, —  a  statement  possible,  so  broad  and  so  pungent 
that  he  cannot  get  away  from  it,  but  must  either  bend  to  it 
or  die  of  it.  By  dint  of  perseverance  and  reiteration  the 
orator  may  produce  an  impression  which  no  single  blow, 
however  vigorously  struck,  would  make.  Every  impression, 
however  faint,  leaves  the  hearer  more  apt  for  impression  in 
future  by  the  same  hand.  A  lodgment  is  made  in  his  heart, 
and  if  it  be  steadily  followed  up,  though  he  cannot  be 
stormed,  he  may  be  sapped,  and  at  last  find  it  convenient  to 
capitulate. 

Again,  in  spite  of  the  party  whip,  in  spite  .of  the  utmost 
perfection  of  party  drill,  there  are  occasional  great  crises 
in  public  affairs, —  extraordinary  periods, —  when  men  will 
burst  awav  from  the  ranks,  and  vote  according  to  their 
convictions.  As  well  might  the  sands  of  the  desert  expect 
to  be  unstirred  by  the  winds,  and  to  remain  in  a  solid 
mass,  as  parties  expect  that  they  will  remain  unchanged  by 
the  tornado  of  eloquence, —  the  whirlwind  and  storm  of 
oratory, —  that  at  such  times  sweeps  over  them. 

More  than  all,  character'  is  an  important  factor  in 
modern  eloquence.  It  is  his  virtues,  his  stability,  his 
known  zeal  for  the  right  and  the  true,  that  quite  as 
much  as  the  magnetism  of  his  looks,  his  siren  voice, 
his  graces  of  address,  and  electric  periods,  must  win  for 
the  orator  attention  and  confidence  now.  It  is  the  man 
behind  the  words  that  must  give  them  momentum  and 
projectile  force.  The  impression  which  every  speaker 
makes  on  his  fellows,  is  the  moral  resultant,  not  only  of 
what  he  says ,  but  of  all  that  he  has  grown  up  to  be;  of 
his  manhood,  weak  or  strong,  sterling  or  counterfeit;  of 
a  funded  but  unreckoned  influence,  accumulating  uncon¬ 
sciously,  and  spending  itself,  as  the  man  is  deep  or  slial- 


IS  ORATORY  A  LOST  ART? 


57 


low,  like  a  reservoir,  or  like  a  spout  or  an  April  shower. 
Especially  in  times  of  civil  commotion,  in  great  crises,  when 
public  interests  are  imperilled,  when  war  or  anarchy 
threatens  the  land,  is  this  element  of  oratory  most  potent. 
It  is  no  festival  eloquence,  no  vain  mockery  of  art,  that 
will  then  meet  the  exigency,  but  the  sincere,  heart-felt 
appeals  of  a  speaker  whose  whole  life  has  exemplified  the 
sentiments  he  enforces,  and  who  is  known  to  be  willing 
to  give  his  life,  if  need  be,  in  defense  of  his  principles. 
Thus  supported,  the  faculty  of  speech  is  power, —  power 
such  as  no  other  faculty  can  give,  and  we  may  say  of  it 
in  the  words  of  an  eloquent  writer:  “It  is  political  pow¬ 
er:  it  is  statesmanship.  No  recommendation  can  supply 
the  absence  of  its  prestige.  Splendid  abilities,  the  utmost 
literary  renown,  are  without  it  insufficient  testimonies. 
Dissociated  from  it,  the  historian  of  the  Roman  Empire 
lingers  below  the  gangway.  Assisted  by  it,  a  cornet  of 
horse  becomes  the  arbiter  of  Europe.’' 

Finally,  it  should  not  be  forgotten  that  while  the  an¬ 
cient  orator  enjoyed  certain  advantages  which  are  denied 
to  his  successor  at  the  present  day,  these  are  compensated 
in  a  great  measure  by  the  prodigious  extension  of  knowl¬ 
edge,  and  the  consequently  greatly  increased  number  and 
variety  of  ideas  and  illustrations  which  are  at  the  com¬ 
mand  of  the  modern  orator.  As  far  as  the  world, — we 
had  almost  said,  the  universe, —  made  known  by  science 
to  the  moderns  exceeds  that  known  to  the  ancients,  so 
far  do  the  facts  and  ideas  which  the  speaker  of  the  nine¬ 
teenth  century  may  employ,  surpass  in  multitude,  vari¬ 
ety,  and  grandeur,  those  which  were  at  the  disposal  of 
the  most  brilliant  or  potent  genius  of  antiquity.  Not 
only  have  the  vast  additions  made  to  human  knowledge 


58 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


by  the  discoveries  of  the  physical  geographer,  the  geol¬ 
ogist,  the  chemist,  the  botanist,  the  natural  philosopher, 
and  the  astronomer,  furnished  a  store  of  new  ideas,  allu¬ 
sions,  and  images,  with  which  to  captivate,  startle,  or  en¬ 
lighten  an  assembly,  but  history  has  replenished  her 
storehouses  with  myriads  of  new  political  precedents  and 
examples  of  heroism  and  virtue ;  modern  poetry  has 
added  its  gems  of  thought  and  expression, —  its  charmed 
words, —  to  those  which  antiquity  has  bequeathed  to  us; 
and,  more  than  all,  the  Christian  religion  has  opened  a 
new  fountain  of  inspiration,  and  furnished  the  orator 
with  a  store  of  thoughts,  images,  and  associations,  which, 
whether  fitted  to  please  and  inspire,  or  to  awe  and  ap¬ 
pal,  are  more  powerful  than  any  others  in  moving  the 
human  heart. 

To  conclude, —  in  comparing  the  influence  of  ancient 
and  modern  oratory,  we  have  spoken  of  some  of  the 
changes  which  have  taken  place  within  two  centuries  in 
modern  British  eloquence.  There  is  still  another  change 
which  it  may  not  be  improper  to  consider  for  a  few  mo¬ 
ments  in  this  place.  Why  is  it  that  parliamentary 
speeches,  both  in  this  country  and  England,  are  now 
adorned,  (or  disfigured,  as  the  reader  pleases,)  with  so  few 
quotations  from  the  classics?  Is  it  because  the  age  is 
less  pedantic  than  formerly?  or  because  the  legislators  of 
this  century  have  less  knowledge  of  the  Greek  and  Ro¬ 
man  authors,  and  less  taste  for  them,  than  the  legislators 
of  the  eighteenth  century?  Certain  it  is  that  the  apt 
and  telling  quotations  for  which  Horace  and  Virgil  used 
to  be  racked,  are  heard  no  more  in  our  political  assem¬ 
blies.  A  great  speech  unadorned  by  a  few  Latin  verses 
was  a  rarity  m  the  days  of  Pitt;  and  the  English  poets, 


IS  ORATORY  A  LOST  ART? 


59 


too,  of  which  Mr.  Bright  has  now  a  monopoly,  were  never 
long  neglected.  Burke  quoted  Horace,  Lucan,  and  Juve¬ 
nal;  gems  from  Virgil  sparkle  in  almost  all  of  his 
speeches;  and  to  brilliants  borrowed  from  Milton  some 
of  his  finest  passages  owe  half  of  their  effect.  Fox, 
though  a  fine  classic,  quoted  rarely,  and  then  from  Vir¬ 
gil  ;  *  but  some  of  Pitt’s  most  happy  effects  were  produced 
by  apt  quotation.  His  mind  was  so  thoroughly  steeped 
in  classical  literature,  that  it  colors  his  speeches  “  like 
the  shifting,  varying,  yet  constantly  prevalent  hue  m  shot 
silk.'’  His  allusion  to  the  departure  of  fortune,  Lando 
manentem ,  etc.;  his  reply  to  Conway  on  the  East  India 
bill,  in  which  he  appropriated  Scipio’s  answer,  “  Si  nulla 
alia  re,  modestia  certe  et  temper ando  linguam  adolescens 
senem  vicero  ”;  his  application  of  the  beams  of  the  rising 
sun  that  shot  through  the  windows  of  the  House,  while 
he  was  prophesying  a  better  day  for  Africa, — 

“  Nos  ubi  primus  equis  Oriens  afflavit  anhelis 
Illic  sera  rubens  accendit  lumina  vesper”;  — 

his  application  to  Fox  of  the  lines, 

“  Stetimus  tela  aspera  contra 
Contulimusque  manus:  experto  crede  quantus 
In  clipeum  assurgat,  quo  turbine  torqueat  hastam  ’1 

were  some  of  the  things  that  made  his  fame.  In  later 
times  Canning,  who  was  a  fine  classical  scholar,  sprinkled 


*  Lord  Lytton,  in  his  admirable  essays  on  “  Life,  Literature,  and  Manners,” 
observes  that  “  in  the  Fox  of  St.  Stephen’s,  the  nervous  reasoner  from  premises 
the  broadest  and  most  popular,  there  is  no  trace  of  the  Fox  of  St.  Anne’s,  the 
refining  verbal  critic,  with  an  almost  feminine  delight  in  the  filigree  and  trinkets 
of  literature.  At  rural  leisure,  under  his  apple-blossoms,  his  predilection  in 
scholarship  is  for  its  daintiest  subtleties ;  his  happiest  remarks  are  on  writers 
very  little  read.  But  place  the  great  critic  on  the  floor  of  the  House  of  Com¬ 
mons,  and  not  a  vestige  of  the  fine  verbal  critic  is  visible.  His  classical  allu¬ 
sions  are  then  taken  from  passages  the  most  popularly  known.  And,  indeed,  it 
was  a  saying  of  Fox’s,  that  1  no  young  member  should  hazard  In  Parliament  a 
Latin  quotation  not  found  in  the  Eton  Grammar.’  ” — Caxtoniana ,  Vol.  I,p  353. 


60 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


his  speeches  with  felicitous  quotations  from  the  Latin 
poets.  In  one  of  his  most  luminous  and  eloquent  speeches, 
delivered  in  1826  in  defense  of  his  Portuguese  policy,  he 
likens  England  to  the  ruler  of  the  winds,  as  described 
by  Virgil: 

“  Celsa  sedet  ^Eohis  arce 
Sceptra  tenens;  mollitque  animos,  temperat  iras; 

Ni  faciat,  maria  ac  terras  caelumque  profundum 
Quippe  ferant  rapidi  secum,  verrantque  per  auras.” 

In  the  courts  of  justice  also,  both  of  England  and  our 
own  country,  striking  effects  used  to  be  produced  by 
well-chosen  bits  from  Virgil,  Martial,  and  Horace.  What 
could  be  happier  than  the  reply  of  Law  (afterward  Lord 
Ellenborough),  to  an  angry  explosion  of  Erskine,  to  whom 
Chief  Justice  Kenyon,  before  whom  they  were  pleading, 
was  unduly  partial?  Fixing  his  eye  first  on  Erskine,  and 
then  on  Kenyon,  Law  replied  in  the  words  of  the  pros¬ 
trate  Turnus  to  iEneas: 

“  Non  me  tua  fervida  terrent 
Dicta,  ferox!  Dii  me  terrent,  et  Jupiter  hostis.” 

Not  less  felicitous  was  the  skill  with  which  William 
Wirt,  in  the  celebrated  “steamboat  case”  which  came 
before  the  Supreme  Court  of  the  United  States  in  1824, 
retorted  on  his  eminent  antagonist,  Mr.  Emmet,  a  quota¬ 
tion  of  the  latter  from  Virgil.  The  cause  was  one  of  deep 
interest  and  importance,  not  only  on  account  of  the  indi¬ 
vidual  rights  involved,  but  on  account  of  the  collisions  of 
those  of  the  State  of  New  York  with  those  of  Connecticut 
and  New  Jersey,  which  gave  rise  to  it.  The  chief  question 
was  whether  the  laws  of  the  first-named  State,  which  con¬ 
ferred  upon  Messrs.  Fulton  and  Livingston  the  exclusive 
right  to  navigate  its  waters  with  steamboats,  were  or 
were  not  in  violation  of  the  Constitution  of  the  United 


IS  ORATORY  A  LOST  ART? 


61 


States.  Mr.  Emmet,  who  was  counsel  for  New  York,  had 
eloquently  personified  her  as  casting  her  eyes  over  the 
ocean,  witnessing  everywhere  the  triumphs  of  her  genius, 
and  exclaiming,  in  the  language  of  iEneas: 

‘  Quae  regio  in  terris,  nostri  non  plenae  laboris?” 

Mr.  Wirt  saw  at  once,  the  error  his  opponent  had  com¬ 
mitted,  and  giving  the  true  sense  of  the  word  “  laboris,” 
turned  the  tables  upon  him  as  follows: 

“  Sir,  it  was  not  in  the  moment  of  triumph,  nor  with  the  feelings  of  tri¬ 
umph,  that  ^Eneas  uttered  that  exclamation.  It  was  when,  with  his  faithful 
Achates  by  his  side,  he  was  surveying  the  works  of  art  with  which  the  palace 
of  Carthage  was  adorned,  and  his  attention  had  been  caught  by  a  representa¬ 
tion  of  the  battles  of  Troy.  There  he  saw  the  sons  of  Atreus  and  Priam,  and 
the  fierce  Achilles.  The  whole  extent  of  his  fortunes;  the  loss  and  desola¬ 
tion  of  his  friends;  the  fall  of  his  beloved  country;  rushed  upon  his  recol¬ 
lection  : 

‘  Constitit  et  lachrymans,  quis  jam  locus,  inquit,  Achate, 

Quae  regio  in  terris,  nostri  non  plenae  laboris?1 

“  Sir,  the  passage  may  hereafter  have  a  closer  application  to  the  cause 
than  my  eloquent  and  classical  friend  intended.  For  if  the  state  of  things 
which  has  already  commenced,  is  to  go  on;  if  the  spirit  of  hostility  which 
already  exists  in  three  of  our  states,  is  to  catch  by  contagion,  and  spread 
among  the  rest,  as,  from  the  progress  of  the  human  passions,  and  the  unavoid¬ 
able  conflict  of  interests,  it  will  too  surely  do;  what  are  we  to  expect?  Civil 
wars,  arising  from  far  inferior  causes,  have  desolated  some  of  the  fairest 
provinces  of  the  earth.  .  .  .  It  is  the  high  province  of  this  court  to  inter¬ 
pose  its  benign  and  mediatorial  influence.  ...  If,  sir,  you  do  not  interpose 
your  friendly  hand,  and  extirpate  the  seeds  of  anarchy  which  New  York  has 
sown,  you  will  have  civil  war.  The  war  of  legislation,  which  has  already 
commenced,  will,  according  to  its  usual  course,  become  a  war  of  blows. 
Your  country  will  be  shaken  with  civil  strife.  Your  republican  institutions 
will  perish  in  the  conflict.  Your  constitution  will  fall.  The  last  hope  of  na¬ 
tions  will  be  gone.  And  what  will  be  the  effect  upon  the  rest  of  the  world? 
Look  abroad  at  the  scenes  now  passing  upon  our  globe,  and  judge  of  that 
effect.  The  friends  of  free  government  throughout  the  earth,  who  have  been 
heretofore  animated  by  our  example,  and  have  cheerfully  cast  their  glance 
to  it,  as  to  their  polar  star,  to  guide  them  through  the  stormy  seas  of  revolu¬ 
tion,  will  witness  our  fall  with  dismay  and  despair.  The  arm  that  is  every 
where  lifted  in  the  cause  of  liberty,  will  drop  unnerved  by  the  warrior’s 
side.  Despotism  will  have  its  day  of  triumph,  and  will  accomplish  the  pur 
pose  at  which  it  too  certainly  aims.  It  will  cover  the  earth  with  the  mantle 
of  mourning.  Then ,  sir,  when  New  York  shall  look  upon  this  scene  of  ruin, 
if  she  have  the  generous  feelings  which  I  believe  her  to  have,  it  will  not  be 
with  her  head  aloft,  in  the  pride  of  conscious  triumph,  her  ‘  rapt  soul  sitting 
in  her  eyes.’  No,  sir,  no!  Dejected  with  shame  and  confusion,  drooping 


62 


ORATORY  ANI)  ORATORS. 


»  • 

under  the  weight  of  her  sorrow,  with  a  voice  suffocated  with  despair,  well 
may  she  then  exclaim, 

- ‘  Quis  jam  locus, - 

Quae  regio  in  terris,  nostri  non  plenae  laboris?’ ”* 

At  the  present  day,  with  the  exception  of  Gladstone, 
who  introduces  a  new  bit  of  Virgil  into  every  fresh  speech, 
no  English  or  American  orator  adorns  his  speeches  with 
jewels  from  the  ancient  classics.  The  late  Lord  Palmer¬ 
ston  startled  the  public  a  few  years  ago  with  a  morceau 
from  Seneca;  but  the  practice  has  nearly  passed  away. 
The  explanation  of  the  change  is,  that  the  age  is  intensely 
practical.  In  the  early  stages  of  civilization  oratory  and 
literature  are  apt  to  be  confounded;  but,  as  society  ad¬ 
vances,  the  distinction  between  them  becomes  more  and 
more  broadly  marked.  Oratory  ceases  to  talk;  writing 
ceases  to  be  speech -like.  The  world,  in  these  prosaic,  utili¬ 
tarian  times,  is  becoming  every  day  more  impatient  of 
pedantry,  of  rhetorical  display,  of  everything  that  favors  or 
savors  of  long-windedness;  and  parliamentary  and  forensic 
orators,  knowing  this  fact,  try  to  speak  tersely  and  to  the 
point,  avoiding  everything  that  is  merely  ornamental.  It 
is  said  by  a  traveler  that  the  wild  Indian  hunter  will  some¬ 
times  address  a  bear  in  a  strain  of  eloquence,  and  make  a 
visible  impression  on  him;  but  whatever  may  be  the  taste 
of  Indians  and  bears,  it  is  certain  that  civilized  men,  in  pro¬ 
portion  as  they  increase  in  culture,  will  avoid  whatever  is 
high-flown  in  oratory,  study  brevity  and  plainness,  and 
keep  to  the  subject  before  them. 


*  Mr.  Wirt  was  a  constant  student  of  the  Latin  classics,  and  often  quoted 
them,  with  great  felicity,  in  the  court-room.  “In  the  company  of  men  of 
letters,”  he  used  to  say,  “there  is  no  higher  accomplishment  than  that  of 
readily  making  an  apt  quotation  from  the  classics;  and  before  such  a  body 
as  the  Supreme  Court  these  quotations  are  not  only  appropriate,  but  consti¬ 
tute  a  beautiful  aid  to  argument.  They  mark  the  scholar, —  which  ig  always 
agreeable  to  a  bench  that  is  composed  of  scholars.” 


CHAPTER  III. 


QUALIFICATIONS  OF  THE  ORATOR. 

/~\F  all  the  efforts  of  the  human  mind,  there  is  no  one 
S  which  demands  for  its  success  so  rare  a  union  of 
mental  gifts  as  eloquence.  For  its  ordinary  displays  the 
prerequisites  are  clear  perception,  memory,  power  of  state¬ 
ment,  logic,  imagination,  force  of  will,  and  passion;  but, 
for  its  loftiest  flights,  it  demands  a  combination  of  the  most 
exalted  powers, —  a  union  of  the  rarest  faculties.  Unite  in 
one  man  the  most  varied  and  dissimilar  gifts, —  a  strong 
and  masculine  understanding  with  a  brilliant  imagination; 
a  nimble  wit  with  a  solid  judgment;  a  prompt  and  te¬ 
nacious  memory  with  a  lively  and  fertile  fancy;  an  eye  for 
the  beauties  of  nature  with  a  knowledge  of  the  realities 
of  life;  a  brain  stored  with  the  hived  wisdom  of  the  ages, 
and  a  heart  swelling  with  emotion. —  and  you  have  the 
moral  elements  of  a  great  orator.  But  even  these  qualifi¬ 
cations,  so  seldom  harmonized  in  one  man,  are  not  all. 
Eloquence  is  a  physical  as  well  as  an  intellectual  product; 
it  has  to  do  with  the  body  as  well  as  with  the  mind.  It  is 
not  a  cold  and  voiceless  enunciation  of  abstract  truth;  it  is 
truth  warm  and  palpitating, — reason  “  permeated  and  made 
red-hot  with  passion.*'  It  demands,  therefore,  a  trained, 
penetrating,  and  sympathetic  voice,  ranging  through  all 
the  kevs  in  the  scale,  by  which  all  the  motions  and  agita- 
tions,  all  the  shudderings  and  throbbings  of  the  heart,  no 

less  than  the  subtlest  acts,  the  nimblest  operations  of  the 

63 


64 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


mind, —  in  fine,  all  the  modifications  of  the  moral  life, — 
may  find  a  tone,  an  accent.  The  eye  as  well  as  the  lips, 
the  heaving  chest  and  the  swaying  arm,  the  whole  frame 
quivering  with  emotion,  have  a  part;  and  the  speech  that 
thrills,  melts,  or  persuades,  is  the  result  of  them  all  com¬ 
bined.  The  orator  needs,  therefore,  a  stout  bodily  frame, 
especially  as  his  calling  is  one  that  rapidly  wears  the 
nerves,  and  exhausts  the  vital  energy. 

A  man  may  have  the  bow  of  Ulysses,  but  of  what  use 
is  it,  if  he  has  not  strength  to  bend  it  to  his  will?  His 
arrows  may  be  of  silver,  and  gold-tipped;  they  may  be 
winged  with  the  feathers  of  the  very  bird  of  Paradise; 
but  if  he  cannot  draw  them  to  the  head,  and  send  them 
home  to  the  mark,  of  what  value  are  they  to  him?  The 
most  potent  speakers,  in  all  ages,  have  been  distinguished 
for  bodily  stamina.  They  have  been,  with  a  few  remark¬ 
able  exceptions,  men  of  brawny  frame,  with  powerful 
digestive  organs,  and  lungs  of  great  aerating  capacity. 
They  have  been  men  “  who,  while  they  had  a  sufficient 
thought- power  to  create  all  the  material  needed,  had  pre¬ 
eminently  the  explosive  power  by  which  they  could  thrust 
their  materials  out  at  men.  They  were  catapults,  and 
men  went  down  before  them.”  Burke  and  Fox  were 
men  of  stalwart  frame.  Mirabeau  had  the  neck  of  a 
bull,  and  a  prodigious  chest  out  of  which  issued  that 
voice  of  thunder  before  which  the  French  chamber 
quailed  in  awe.  Brougham  had  a  constitution  of  lig¬ 
num- vitse,  which  stood  the  wear  and  tear  of  ceaseless 
activity  for  more  than  eighty  years.  Daniel  Webster’s 
physique  was  so  extraordinary  that  it  drew  all  eyes  upon 
him ;  and  Sydney  Smith  could  describe  him  only  as  “  a 
steam-engine  in  breeches.”  Chalmers  had  a  large  frame, 


QUALIFICATIONS  OF  THE  ORATOR.  65 

with  a  ponderous  brain,  and  a  general  massiveness  of 
countenance  which  suggested  great  reserved  strength, 
and  reminded  those  who  watched  it  in  repose  of  one  of 
Landseer's  or  Thorwaldsen’s  lions.  Even  those  orators 
who  have  not  had  giant  frames,  have  had,  at  least, 
closely-knit  ones, —  the  bodily  activity  and  quickness  of 
the  athlete.  It  was  said  of  Lord  Erskine  that  his  action 
sometimes  reminded  one  of  a  blood-horse.  When  urging 
a  plea  with  passionate  fervor,  his  eye  flashed,  the  nostril 
distended,  he  threw  back  his  head,  “  his  neck  was  clothed 
with  thunder.”  There  was  in  him  the  magnificent  ani¬ 
mal,  as  well  as  the  proud  and  fiery  intellect,  and  the 
whole  frame  quivered  with  pent-up  excitement.  Curran 
could  rise  before  a  jury,  after  a  session  of  sixteen  hours, 
with  a  brief  intermission,  and  make  one  of  the  most 
memorable  arguments  of  his  life.  The  massive  frames 
of  O'Connell  and  John  Bright,  England’s  greatest  living 
orator,  are  familiar  to  all. 

Besides  all  these  qualifications,  there  are  others  hardly 
less  essential  to  the  ideal  orator.  He  must  have  the 
continuity  of  thought  which  is  requisite  for  a  prolonged 
argument,  and  the  ready  wit  which  can  seize  and  turn 
to  use  any  incident  which  may  occur  in  the  course  of  its 
delivery.  Last,  but  not  least,  i^  demanded  that  com¬ 
manding  will,  which,  as  it  is  one  of  the  most  valuable 
mental  gifts,  is  also  one  of  the  rarest,  and  is  still  more 
rarely  found  in  union  with  the  brilliant  and  dazzling 
qualities  that  are  the  soul  of  every  art  which  is  to  sub¬ 
due  or  captivate  mankind. 

In  view  of  the  extraordinary  qualifications  required 
for  the  highest  eloquence,  it  is  not  strange  that  it  is  so 

uncommon.  A  great  orator, —  one  who  has  perfectly 
3* 


66 


ORATORY  ANI)  ORATORS. 


grasped  the  art  of  bodying  forth  to  eye  and  ear  all 
there  is  in  him,  and  who  utters  accordingly  great 
thoughts  and  great  feelings,  is  a  most  rare  and  magnifi¬ 
cent  creation  of  the  Almighty.  There  is  a  well-known 
saw  which  declares  that  “the  poet  is  born,  the  orator  is 
made”;  but  nothing  can  be  more  absurd  than  this  dis¬ 
tinction.  Both  are  born ,  and  both  are  made.  As  the 
poet,  however  gifted,  requires  much  and  careful  self¬ 
culture  to  produce  the  finest  verse,  so  the  orator,  how¬ 
ever  Herculean  his  industry,  needs  a  basis  of  native 
genius,  as  well  as  incessant  study  and  practice,  to  reach 
the  loftiest  heights  of  eloquence.  Without  the  native 
faculty,  the  inborn  genius,  he  may  become  a  fluent  de- 
claimer,  but  in  vain  will  he  covet  the  grand  triumphs 
of  the  rostrum.  The  profoundest  reflection  and  the  most 
exhaustless  knowledge  are  unavailing  here.  Nature  only 
it  is  that  can  inspire  that  rapturous  enthusiasm,  that 
burning  passion,  that  “furious  pride  and  joy  of  the 
soul,!’  which  calls  up  the  imagination  of  the  orator, — 
that  makes  his  rhetoric  become  a  whirlwind,  and  his 
logic,  fire. 

The  grandest  passages,  the  most  thrilling  bursts,  in 
the  annals  of  eloquence,  have  been  those  which  have  cost 
the  least  trouble;  for  they  came  as  if  by  inspiration. 
Like  a  chariot- wheel  in  violent  motion,  the  soul  of  the 
orator  catches  fire  in  the  swiftness  of  its  movement,  and 
throws  off  those  divine  flashes  which  fascinate  mankind. 
Chatham’s  indignant  burst  in  reply  to  the  Duke  of  Rich¬ 
mond  was  of  this  character,  and  who  does  not  do  homage  to 
its  lofty  grandeur?  Thurlow’s  scathing  reply  to  the  Duke 
of  Grafton,  when  the  latter  had  taunted  him  with  the  mean¬ 
ness  of  his  extraction, —  Grattan’s  overwhelming  denuncia- 


QUALIFICATIONS  OF  THE  ORATOR. 


67 


tion  of  Flood, —  Curran's  blasting  denunciations  of  the  gov¬ 
ernment  and  its  bribed  informers,  amid  the  clanking  of 
arms  that  were  pointed  at  his  heart, —  were  all  such  gushes 
of  inspiration.  Who  that  reads  Henry’s  burning  speeches 
can  doubt  that  his  most  thrilling  appeals  were  prompted 
by  a  similar  flush  of  feeling?  And  if  we  go  back  to  the 
great  orators  of  antiquity,  how  striking^  is  this  exempli¬ 
fied  in  their  most  memorable  triumphs?  In  every  case 
we  find  that  oratory,  like  the  inspiration  of  the  poet,  or 
the  brilliant  conceptions  of  the  painter,  flows  from  a 
source  which  is  beyond  the  reach  of  human  ken.  The 
essential  secret  is  a  gift  of  God,  and  in  vain  do  we  try 
to  grasp  it  and  to  describe  it  by  seizing  its  mere  forms. 
As  Webster  has  said,  “labor  and  learning  may  toil  for  it; 
but  they  will  toil  in  vain.”  It  was  not  from  rules  and 
precepts  only  that  Demosthenes  derived  that  eloquence 
which  is  represented  as  lightning,  bearing  down  every 
opposer.  No  study, —  no  elaborate  preparation, —  could 
have  produced  those  electric  appeals, — “  that  disdain,  anger, 
boldness,  freedom,  involved  in  a  continual  stream  of  argu¬ 
ment,  which  make  his  orations  the  most  perfect  of  oratori¬ 
cal  discourses.”  To  all  such  orators  the  secret  of  their 
grandest  successes  was  doubtless  as  much  a  mystery  as 
to  their  hearers.  They  had  arranged  nothing, —  prepared 
nothing.  A  leading  idea, —  a  central  thought, — was  present 
to  the  mind;  but  the  distribution  of  the  figures,  and  the 
harmonious  adaptation  of  the  colors,  were  left  to  that 
wonderful  influence  which  directs  genius  and  consecrates 
it  to  immortality. 

Socrates  used  to  say  that  “  all  men  are  sufficiently  elo¬ 
quent  in  that  which  they  understand”;  but  it  would  have 
been  more  correct  to  say  that  no  man  can  be  eloquent  on  a 


68 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


subject  which  he  does  not  understand;  and  it  is  equally 
certain  that  no  man  can  b£  eloquent  who  has  not  certain 
mental  and  physical  gifts  as  well  as  knowledge.  Dr. 
Horace  Bushnell  says,  in  one  of  his  lectures,  that  forty 
hundred  pulpits  are  wondering  that  there  are  no  more 
of  the  eloquent  ministers  for  them.  As  well  might  he 
wonder  that  in  every  village  there  is  no  Phidias  or 
Raphael,  and  on  the  wall  of  every  church  no  Last  Sup¬ 
per,  in  fresco,  by  Da  Vinci.  Excellence,  by  its  very  defi¬ 
nition,  is  exceptional,  and  in  oratory  it  is  even  rarer  than 
in  sculpture  or  painting. 

The  names  of  all  the  men  in  ancient  times,  who,  by 
the  common  consent  of  their  contemporaries,  had  reached 
the  highest  pinnacle  of  eloquence,  may  be  counted  on  the 
fingers  of  one  hand.  Greece  boasted  her  three  great  dra¬ 
matic  poets,  besides  her  epic;  but  she  produced  but  one 
Demosthenes.  The  names  of  iEschines,  Lysias,  and  Hy- 
perides  have,  indeed,  survived  the  wrecks  of  time;  but 
they  were  rather  finished  rhetoricians  than  masters  of  the 
oratorical  art.  The  fame  of  Roman  oratory  is  upheld  by 
Cicero  alone.  Calvus,  Cselius,  Curio,  Crassus,  Hortensius, 
Caesar,  rose  one  above  another;  but  the  most  eloquent  of 
these  lags  so  far  behind  the  master,  that  he  is  only  pro xi- 
mus ,  sed  longo  intervallo.  Cicero  himself  had  so  lofty  an 
ideal  of  his  art,  that  he  was  dissatisfied  not  only  with  his 
own  performances,  but  with  those  of  Demosthenes.  Ita 
sunt  avidae  et  capaces  meae  aures ,  says  he,  et  semper'  ali- 
quid  immensum  infinitumque  desiderant.  The  number  of 
great  orators  in  modern  times  is  almost  equally  small. 
The  pulpit  and  political  eloquence  of  France,  whose  Celtic 
genius  is  peculiarly  oratorical,  boasts  of  but  two  great 
names,  Bossuet  and  Mirabeau,  that  are  comparable  with 


QUALIFICATIONS  OF  THE  ORATOR. 


69 


those  of  her  great  dramatists;  and  fertile  as  Great  Britain 
has  been  in  oratorical  genius  dhring  upward  of  a  century, 
she  has  never,  amid  all  her  epochs  of  revolution  and  sen¬ 
atorial  contest,  from  the  days  of  Bacon  to  those  of  Bright, 
produced  a  single  public  speaker  worthy  to  rank  with 
Milton  or  Shakspeare. 

No  doubt  many  persons  have  enjoyed,  for  a  time,  great 
fame  and  influence  without  some  of  the  qualities  which 
we  have  named  as  essential  to  the  perfect  orator.  A  bril¬ 
liant  imagination  and  a  sparkling  wit  may  blind  us  for 
a  while  to  the  lack  of  a  solid  judgment;  and  vehement 
action  or  cogent  reasoning  may  make  us  for  the  moment 
forget  a  squeaking  voice,  an  ugly  face,  or  a  diminutive 
figure.  John  Randolph  had  a  short,  small  body,  perched 
upon  high  crane  legs,  so  that,  when  he  stood  up,  you  did 
not  know  when  he  was  to  end;  yet  he  commanded  the 
attention  of  the  House  of  Representatives,  in  spite  of  his 
gaunt  figure  and  his  ear-splitting  scream;  and  Wilberforce 
was  a  power  in  Parliament,  though  he  had  but  a  pigmy 
body  and  a  voice  weak  and  painfully  shrill.  Boswell,  who 
hea.rd  him  in  1784  at  York,  wrote  to  a  friend:  “  I  saw 
what  seemed  a  mere  shrimp  mount  upon  the  table;  but, 
as  I  listened,  he  grew  and  grew  until  the  shrimp  became 
a  whale.”  Richard  Lalor  Sheil  thrilled  the  Irish  people, 
notwithstanding  his  dwarfish  frame,  his  ungraceful  action, 
and  a  voice  so  harsh  and  violent  as  often  to  rise  to  a 
positive  shriek.  The  most  magical  of  American  preachers, 
Summerfield,  the  stories  of  whose  oratorical  feats  read  like 
a  page  from  the  “Arabian  Nights,”  was  “femininely  feeble, 
an  invalid  all  his  days.”  Biography  abounds  with  these 
examples  of  the  mind  triumphing  over  matter;  and  in¬ 
deed,  there  is  on  record  hardly  any  positive  proof  that 


70 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


physical  defects,  whether  of  voice  or  person,  have  ever 
completely  neutralized  the  effect  of  eloquent  thoughts  and 
sentiments,  when  the  spirit  that  kindles  them  was  really 
in  the  man, —  when  the  elements  of  oratory  were  deep- 
seated  in  his  soul.  Nevertheless  it  is  certain  that  few  men 
even  aspire  to  eminence  as  public  speakers  to  whom  Nature 
has  been  niggard  of  the  proper  physical  gifts;  and,  though 
one  may  sway  the  hearts  of  his  fellow-men  without  a  har¬ 
monious  or  sonorous  voice,  an  expressive  countenance,  an 
imposing  person,  and  the  other  bodily  attributes  which 
are  essential  to  the  full  charm  of  eloquence,  yet  there  is 
scarcely  an  instance  of  a  man’s  rising  to  the  loftiest  heights 
of  oratory  without  them. 

Again,  it  is  evident  that,  for  temporary  success,  even 
vulgar  qualities  may  be  the  most  efficient,  and  the  orator 
may  owe  his  triumphs  to  the  use  o£  arts  which  he  secretly 
despises.  As  immediate  influence,  not  lasting  fame,  is  usu¬ 
ally  the  object  for  which  the  speaker  is  striving,  he  must,  of 
course,  conform,  in  a  certain  degree,  to  the  tastes  of  those 
he  addresses  and  to  the  ruling  passions  of  the  hour,  and 
hence  the  quality  of  his  appeals  must  depend,  in  a  great 
degree,  upon  the  intelligence  or  ignorance,  the  nobleness  or 
vulgarity,  of  his  hearers.  The  exigences  of  modern  society, 
and  especially  of  modern  political  warfare,  have  called  into 
being  a  class  of  public  speakers  whose  efforts  fall  as  far 
below  those  of  the  ideal  orator  in  grandeur  and  beauty  as 
they  excel  them,  occasionally,  in  immediate  utility.  It  is 
not  merely  in  the  degree,  but  also  in  the  nature  of  their 
excellence,  that  the  speeches  of  these  two  classes  differ. 
While  with  the  one  class  oratory  is  a  severe  and  exacting 
art,  demanding  the  closest  application,  and  aiming  not 
merely  to  excite  the  passions  or  sway  the  judgment  for  the 


QUALIFICATIONS  OF  THE  ORATOR. 


71 


time  being,  but  also  to  produce  a  deep  and  permanent  im¬ 
pression, —  perhaps  to  produce  models  for  the  delight  and 
admiration  of  mankind, —  the  aim  of  the  other  class  is 
simply  a  temporary  effect,  an  immediate  result,  to  which 
all  other  considerations  are  sacrificed.  While  the  former 
speak  rarely,  and  at  long  intervals,  during  which  they  sat¬ 
urate  their  minds  with  their  themes,  casting  their  thoughts 
into  such  moulds  as  are  best  fitted  to  enhance  their  intrin¬ 
sic  worth  or  beauty,  the  latter  are  always  ready  with  facts, 
arguments,  and  real  or  simulated  enthusiasm,  to  champion 
any  cause  or  measure  that  party  interests  may  require. 
While  the  speeches  of  the  one  class,  at  once  charming  by 
their  intrinsic  beauty  and  compelling  conviction  by  their 
power,  are  a  study  for  the  intellect  and  a  pleasure  to  the 
imagination,  and  are  read  and  studied  for  ages  as  models 
of  the  oratorical  art,  as  men  study  the  poems  of  Milton  or 
Tennyson,  or  the  paintings  of  Raphael  or  Titian,  the  effu¬ 
sions  of  the  other,  deriving  their  interest  from  extraneous 
causes  that  cease  with  the  excitement  of  the  hour,  produce 
an  immediate  effect,  which  is  testified  by  applause  or  votes, 
but,  after  a  few  days,  or  months,  or  years,  are  forever  for¬ 
gotten.  It  is  still  true,  therefore,  that  while  great  influ¬ 
ence,  and  even  temporary  fame,  may  be  acquired  without 
the  cooperation  of  all  the  qualities  we  have  enumerated, 
yet  eloquence  of  the  highest  order, —  the  divine  art  which 
“  harmonizes  language  till  it  becomes  a  music,  and  shapes 
thought  into  a  talisman,” — demands  the  rare  union  of 
gifts  we  have  named. 

It  is  a  noteworthy  fact  that  while  every  civilized  coun¬ 
try  and  every  age  of  civilization  has  had  its  eloquent  men, 
the  great  speakers  have  generally  appeared  in  clusters,  not 
singly,  and  at  long  intervals  of  time.  By  some  mysterious, 


72 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


inexplicable  law,  the  divine  afflatus  of  genius  comes  rush¬ 
ing  on  a  particular  generation,  and  a  brilliant  galaxy  of 
orators  appears  in  some  country,  perhaps  in  several  coun¬ 
tries  at  once.  As  the  great  painters  and  sculptors  ap¬ 
peared  together  in  the  Middle  Ages, —  as  the  great  musical 
composers  came  in  one  age, —  as  the  great  dramatists  of 
English  literature  belong  to  one  reign, —  and  as  the  great 
poets  of  this  century  sang  together  immediately  after  the 
French  Revolution, —  so  the  most  illustrious  orators  have 
blazed  out  in  the  intellectual  heavens,  not  at  long  intervals 
or  as  “  bright,  particular  stars,”  but  suddenly  and  in  bril¬ 
liant  constellations.  Of  these,  the  most  splendid  in  modern 
times  have  been  those  which  distinguished  the  age  of  Lewis 
XIV  and  the  period  of  the  Revolution  in  France,  the  age 
of  George  III  in  England,  and  in  America  the  years  of  the 
Revolution  and  the  second  quarter  of  the  present  century. 

Having  thus  enumerated  the  qualities  which  constitute 
the  orator,  let  us  proceed  to  notice  some  of  the  principal 
ones  more  in  detail.  Of  course,  it  is  assumed  that  he  has 
the  necessary  stock  of  knowledge, —  a  proper  fund  of  in¬ 
formation  to  draw  from,  both  general  and  particular, — 
and  that  with  the  special  information  touching  his  theme 
his  mind  is  saturated.  There  is  no  art  that  can  teach  a 
man  to  be  eloquent  without  knowledge,  though  some  de- 
claimers,  who  appear,  in  speaking,  to  have  followed  Rous¬ 
seau’s  receipt  for  a  love-letter, —  namely  to  begin  without 
knowing  what  you  are  going  to  say,  and  to  leave  off  with¬ 
out  knowing  what  you  have  said, —  evidently  think  other¬ 
wise.  Cultivation  of  the  voice,  memory,  and  imagination, — 
attention  to  style,  gesture,  and  all  the  arts  of  speech, —  can 
only  render  pleasing  or  impressive  the  ideas  the  speaker 
wishes  to  communicate;  but  the  materials  of  his  speech, — 


QUALIFICATIONS  OF  THE  ORATOR. 


73 


the  facts  and  ideas  themselves, —  must  be  supplied  from 
other  sources  than  rhetoric.  There  is  no  man  who  may 
not  learn  to  express,  simply  and  naturally,  what  is  in  him; 
but  ten  thousand  teachers  cannot  qualify  him  to  express 
any  more,  for  “  oratory,  like  painting  and  sculpture,  is 
only  a  language;  it  is  painting  and  sculpture  made  vocal 
and  visible.”  * 

It  is  hardly  necessary  to  say  that  among  the  physical 
gifts  of  the  orator,  no  one  is  more  important  than  a  good 
voice.  There  is  something  at  once  mysterious  and  marvel¬ 
lous  in  the  power  of  that  complex  structure  which  we  call 
the  vocal  organs,  to  move  and  mould  the  hearts  of  men. 
The  waves  of  sound,  those  vibrating  molecules  which,  strik¬ 
ing  the  sensitive  membrane  of  the  ear,  travel  thence  to  the 
brain,  the  seat  of  thought  and  passion,  have  a  power  to 
awaken  and  compel  deep  hidden  sympathies,  which,  in  its 
magical  effects,  surpasses  any  other  granted  to  man.  It  is 
true  that  persons  skilled  in  pantomime  can  communicate 
many  ideas,  and  even  complicated  trains  of  thought,  by  ges¬ 
tures  alone.  Among  the  Romans  in  the  days  of  Augustus, 
both  tragedies  and  comedies,  which  excited  tears  and  laugh¬ 
ter,  were  acted  by  pantomime  only;  and  Cicero  tells  us  that 
there  was  a  dispute  between  himself  and  the  actor  Roscius 
whether  a  sentiment  could  be  expressed  in  a  greater  va- 


*  Theodore  Parker,  in  reply  to  a  gentleman  who,  in  1851,  asked  by  letter 
how  he  could  acquire  an  impressive  delivery,  replied  as  follows:  “That  will 
depend  on  qualities  that  lie  a  good  deal  deeper  than  the  surface.  It  seems  to 
me  to  depend  on  vigorous  feeling  and  vigorous  thinking,  in  the  first  place;  on 
clearness  of  statement,  in  the  next  place ;  and  finally,  on  a  vigorous  and  natural 
mode  of  speech.  Vigorous  feeling  and  thinking  depend  on  the  original  talent 
a  man  is  horn  with,  and  on  the  education  he  acquires,  or  his  daily  habits.  No 
man  can  ever  be  'permanently  an  impressive  speaker,  without  being  first  a  man 
of  superior  sentiments  or  superior  ideas.  Sometimes  mere  emotion  (feeling) 
impresses,  but  it  soon  wearies.  Superiority  of  ideas  always  commands  attention 
and  respect.” 


4 


74 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


riety  of  ways  by  words  or  by  significant  gestures.  The 
Brazilians,  it  is  said,  express  and  interchange  thought  to 
a  surprising  degree  by  facial  motions  and  gesticulation. 
The  fact,  however,  that  such  means  are  little  used  among 
persons  who  can  communicate  with  each  other  by  the 
tongue,  shows  that  there  is  no  eloquence  like  that  of  the 
voice.  The  speaking  eye,  the  apt  gesture,  the  written 
word,  and  the  sculptured  or  painted  image  are  compara¬ 
tively  dead  things;  it  is  the  voice  that  has  life, —  that  has 
power  to  thrill,  to  exalt,  to  melt,  to  persuade,  and  to  appal. 
It  is  the  instrument  of  passion  as  well  as  of  thought,  and 
is  capable  of  the  most  wonderful  variety  of  modulations. 
By  distinct  and  significant  sounds,  corresponding  to  certain 
signs,  the  emotions  are  betrayed;  and  when  these  sounds 
reach  the  ear  simultaneously  with  the  appeals  of  the  looks 
and  gestures  to  the  eye,  the  effect  is  irresistible.  Even 
persons  who  are  unaffected  by  music,  are  often  subdued 
by  the  gentle  accents  of  the  voice,  or  roused  by  its  deep 
intonations. 

Lord  Chatham  owed  his  supremacy  in  Parliament  to  his 
voice  as  much  as  to  his  other  gifts.  William  Pitt,  at  the 
age  of  twenty-one,  ruled  the  British  nation  by  his  voice. 
It  was  not  the  comprehensiveness  of  his  reasonings,  the 
power  of  his  sarcasm,  the  legislative  authority  of  his  man¬ 
ner,  but  the  sonorous  depths  of  his  voice, —  a  voice  that 
filled  the  House  of  Commons  with  its  sound, —  that  con¬ 
tributed  most  to  give  him  the  lead  which  his  haughty 
genius  knew  how  to  keep.  Burke,  with  a  far  loftier 
genius,  with  “  an  imperial  fancy  that  laid  all  nature  under 
tribute,11  and  a  memory  rich  with  the  spoils  of  all  knowl¬ 
edge,  had  less  influence  as  an  orator,  because  he  lacked  a 
voice.  He  gave  utterance  to  his  magnificent  conceptions  in 


QUALIFICATIONS  OF  THE  ORATOR. 


a  sort  of  lofty  cry,  which  tended,  it  is  said,  as  much  as  the 
formality  of  his  discourses,  to  send  his  hearers  to  dinner. 
It  has  been  justly  said  that  the  prodigious  power  of  Mira- 
beau  was  in  his  larynx.  He  ruled  tumultuous  assemblies, 
not  by  the  lightning  of  his  thought,  but  by  the  thunder 
of  his  throat.  Who  can  tell  how  far  O’Connell  was 
indebted  for  his  power  to  his  wondrous  organs  of  speech? 
Rising  with  an  easy  and  melodious  swell,  his  voice  filled, 
says  Mr.  Lecky,  the  largest  building,  and  triumphed  over 
the  wildest  tumult,  while  at  the  same  time  it  conveyed 
every  inflection  of  feeling  with  the  most  delicate  flexibility. 

The  late  Earl  of  Derby,  one  of  the  most  potent  orators 
in  the  House  of  Commons,  owed  his  influence  not  more  to 
his  force  of  argument,  the  exquisite  analytical  power  with 
which  he  could  discuss  a  question,  than  to  his  voice.  Full 
and  sonorous  when  deep  themes  were  to  be  discussed,  it 
was  at  other  times  almost  as  musical  as  the  notes  of  an 
oboe.  Mr.  Gladstone  has  a  voice  as  silvery  as  Belial’s. 
When  he  led  the  House  of  Commons,  though  he  spoke 
for  hours  together,  yet  no  hoarseness  jarred  the  music  of 
his  tones,  and  the  closing  sentences  were  as  clear  and  bell¬ 
like  in  their  cadence  as  the  first.  A  foreigner,  who  heard 
him  speak  one  night,  declared  that,  until  then,  he  had 
never  believed  that  the  English  was  a  musical  language; 
but  now  he  was  convinced  that  it  was  one  of  the  most 
melodious  of  all  living  tongues.  Nearly  all  of  our  great 
American  orators  have  been  distinguished  by  similar  gifts. 
Henry  Clay’s  voice  had  an  indescribable  charm.  It  could 
ring  out  in  trumpet  tones,  or  it  could  plead  in  low, 
plaintive  notes,  which  pierced  and  thrilled  the  hearer 
like  the  chanting  of  the  Miserere  at  Rome.  It  is  said  that 
he  used  to  utter  the  words  “  The  days  that  are  passed  and 


76 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


gone,”  with  such  a  melancholy  beauty  of  expression,  that 
no  one  could  hear  them  without  a  tear.  Webster's  organ¬ 
like  voice  was  a  tit  vehicle  equally  for  his  massive,  close- 
knit  arguments  and  for  his  impassioned  appeals,  and  it 
was,  quite  as  much  as  his  majestic  presence,  one  of  the 
secrets  of  his  power.  It  was  deep,  rich,  musical,  flexible, 
and  of  prodigious  volume  and  force.  In  his  famous  speech 
in  reply  to  Senator  Dickinson  of  New  York, —  one  of  the 
few  occasions  on  which  he  lost  his  temper, —  when  he  de¬ 
clared  that  no  power  known  to  man  (to  any  man  but  Mr. 
Dickinson),  not  even  hydrostatic  pressure,  could  compress 
so  big  a  volume  of  lies  into  so  small  a  space  as  the  latter 
had  uttered  in  a  speech  which  he  was  even  then  franking 
all  over  the  country,  Webster  pronounced  the  words  in 
such  tones  that  one  of  his  hearers  declared  that  he  felt, 
all  the  night  afterward,  as  if  a  heavy  cannonade  had  been 
resounding  in  his  ears.  Again,  in  his  eulogy  on  Adams 
and  Jefferson,  when,  coming  to  the  climax  of  his  descrip¬ 
tion  of  John  Adams’s  oratory,  he  raised  his  body,  brought 
his  hands  in  front  of  him  with  a  swing,  and,  stepping  to 
the  front  of  the  stage,  said,  with  a  broad  swell  and  an 
imperious  surge  upward  of  the  gruff  tone  of  his  voice, 
“He  spoke  onward,  right  onward,” — he  threw  into  that 
single  word  “onward”  such  a  shock  of  force,  that  several 
auditors,  who  sat  directly  in  front  of  the  stage,  found 
themselves  involuntarily  half  rising  from  their  seats  with 
the  start  the  words  gave  them.  The  effect  was  the  greater 
because  exceptional.  The  orator  had  been  speaking  calmly, 
and  rose  from  the  dead  level  of  a  passionless  delivery.* 

*  “  The  Golden  Age  of  American  Oratory,”  by  E.  G.  Parker. 

The  French  critic,  Sainte-Beuve,  in  a  fine  paper  on  Montalembert,  describes 
his  voice,  and  adds :  “  I  ask  pardon  for  insisting  upon  these  nuances;  but  the 
ancients,  our  masters  in  everything,  and  particularly  in  eloquence,  noted  them 


QUALIFICATIONS  OF  THE  ORATOR. 


77 


The  enormous  labor  which  actors  and  singers  bestow 
upon  the  cultivation  of  their  voices,  and  its  magic  results, 
are  well  known.  Three,  four,  five,  and  even  six  years,  was 
not  thought  too  long  a  period  for  the  artists  of  the  golden 
age  of  song,  the  eighteenth  century,  to  spend  in  “  making  ” 
the  organ  by  which  they  were  to  win  their  triumphs.  Who 
has  forgotten  the  story  of  Caffarelli,  who,  for  five  out  of 
the  six  vears  in  which  he  was  under  the  instruction  of 

V 

Porpora,  practised  upon  the  passages  written  on  a  solitary 
sheet  of  music-paper?  M.  Legouve,  of  the  French  Acad¬ 
emy,  in  his  amusing  and  instructive  volume  on  L' Art  de  la 
Lecture,  relates  a  singular  experience  of  Rachel,  which  he 
had  from  her  own  lips.  One  day  she  recited  some  tragic 
passages  in  the  Potsdam  gardens  before  the  Emperors  of 
Russia  and  Germany,  the  King  of  Prussia,  and  several 
other  sovereigns.  “  That  parterre  of  kings,”  said  she, 
“  electrified  me.  Never  did  I  find  more  powerful  accents, — 
my  voice  enchanted  my  ears!"  A  similar  incident,  in  her 
own  experience,  is  related  by  Madam  Talma.  She  states  in 
her  Memoirs  that  one  day,  when  she  was  personating  An¬ 
dromache,  she  felt  herself  so  profoundly  moved,  that  tears 
ran,  not  only  from  the  eyes  of  all  the  spectators,  but  from 
her  own  also.  The  tragedy  over,  one  of  her  admirers 
sprang  into  her  box,  and,  seizing  her  hand,  said:  “Oh!  my 
dear  friend,  that  was  admirable!  It  was  Andromache  her¬ 
self.  I  am  sure  that  you  imagined  you  were  in  Epirus, 

minutely;  and  a  great  modern  orator  has  said:  ’A  man’s  voice  is  always  an 
index  of  his  mind.1  A  mind  that  is  clear,  pure,  firm,  generous,  and  a  little 
disdainful,  betrays  all  these  qualities  in  its  voice.  Those  persons  whose  voice 
is  not  the  expressive  and  sensitive  organ  of  these  slightest  shades  of  the  inner 
man,  are  not  made  to  produce  penetrating  impressions  as  orators.”  There  is 
no  doubt  that  Thomas  Jefferson  failed  as  a  speaker  simply  for  lack  of  .voice.  He 
had  all  the  other  qualifications;  but  his  voice  became  guttural  and  inarticulate 
in  moments  of  great  excitement,  and  the  consciousness  of  this  infirmity  pre 
vented  him  from  risking  his  reputation  in  debate. 


78 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


and  that  you  were  Hector's  widow.”  “I?”  she  replied 
laughing,  “not  the  least  in  the  world!”  “What,  then, 
made  you  weep?”  “My  voice.”  “How,  your  voice?” 
“Yes,  my  voice.  That  which  touched  me  was  the  expres¬ 
sion  which  my  voice  gave  to  the  griefs  of  Andromache,  not 
those  griefs  themselves.  That  nervous  shivering  which  ran 
over  my  body,  was  the  electric  shock  produced  upon  my 
nerves  by  my  own  accents.  I  was  at  once  actress  and 
auditress.  I  magnetized  myself.” 

It  is  a  remarkable  fact  that  there  are  actors  moderately 
endowed  with  mind  and  soul,  who,  once  upon  the  stage, 
compel  their  hearers  both  to  weej)  and  to  think.  “  Why,” 
asks  M.  Legouve,  “is  this?  It  is  because  their  voice  is 
intelligent  for  them.  Condemn  them  to  silence,  and  they 
would  fall  back  into  their  natural  nothingness.  It  seems 
as  if  there  were  a  little  sleeping  fairy  in  their  throat,  who 
wakes  as  soon  as  they  speak,  and,  touching  them  with  his 
wand,  kindles  in  them  unknown  powers.  The  voice  is  an 
invisible  actor  concealed  in  the  actor,  a  mysterious  reader 
concealed  in  the  reader,  .  .  .  and  which  serves  as  blower 
to  both.” 

The  voice  being  thus  the  speaker’s  chief  instrument,  it 
is  hardly  possible  for  him  to  take  too  much  pains  with  its 
cultivation.  It  should  be  clear,  distinct,  and  full;  neither 
squeaking  nor  harsh,  neither  a  whistle  nor  a  growl,  and 
requiring  no  push  by  the  will;  but  capable,  easily  and 
naturally,  of  all  the  inflections  and  modulations,  from  a 
forte  to  a  pianissimo,  which  suit  the  different  sentiments  it 
may  be  required  to  express.  It  needs,  therefore,  a  system¬ 
atic  and  scientific  drill,  as  truly  as  do  the  muscles  of  the 
athlete  who  would  excel  in  physical  exercises.  Its  quality 
depends,  of  course,  primarily  upon  the  formation  of  the 


QUALIFICATIONS  OF  THE  ORATOR. 


79 


chest,  the  throat,  and  the  mouth;  but,  though  art  can  do 
nothing  to  change  the  structure  of  these  organs,  it  can  do 
much  to  facilitate  and  strengthen  their  movements  in  all 
that  regards  breathing,  the  emission  of  sound,  and  pronun¬ 
ciation.  Labor  strengthens  weak  voices,  renders  hard  ones 
flexible,  softens  harsh  ones, —  acts,  in  short,  upon  the  speak¬ 
er’s  voice  as  the  practice  of  the  art  of  song  does  upon  that 
of  the  singer.  By  dint  of  painstaking  a  speaker,  like  a 
singer,  may  acquire  notes  which  he  lacks.  The  famous 
vocalist,  Madame  Mali  bran,  in  singing  one  day  the  rondo  in 
the  Opera  of  La  Somnambula,  ended  with  a  very  high  trill 
upon  the  re,  after  having  begun  with  the  low  re.  She 
had  embraced  three  octaves  in  her  vocalism.  After  the 
concert,  a  friend  expressed  his  admiration  of  the  trill: 
“Oh!”  was  the  reply,  “I  have  sought  for  it  long  enough. 
For  three  months  I  have  been  running  after  it.  I  have 
pursued  it  everywhere, —  while  arranging  my  hair!  while 
dressing!  and  I  found  it  one  morning  in  the  bottom  of  my 
shoes,  as  I  was  putting  them  on!” 

The  example  of  Kean,  the  actor,  who  had  by  nature  a 
notably  feeble  voice,  shows  how  much  may  be  accom¬ 
plished  by  careful  vocal  training  and  cultivation.  Talma 
bestowed  incredible  pains  upon  his  voice.  When  young 
he  stammered,  his  articulation  was  indistinct,  he  was 
quickly  fatigued,  and  his  tones  were  heavy  and  sepul¬ 
chral;  but  so  completely  did  he  overcome  these  defects, 
that  no  one  who  heard  him  in  the  maturity  of  his  power 
suspected  their  former  existence.  When  Mr.  Walsh,  the 
American  consul  at  Paris,  heard  him  utter  the  words, 
“  The  iron  reign  of  the  people,”  he  was  astonished  at 
-their  effect.  Every  word  seemed  a  link  in  a  chain-bolt, 
it  was  so  hard,  and  solid,  and  round.  Dr.  Porter,  of 


80 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


Andover,  the  author  of  an  excellent  work  on  Elocution, 
testifies  that  even  in  middle  life  he  went  to  work  and 
broke  up  “a  stiff  and  clumsy  pair  of  jaws”;  and  others 
declare  that  “  from  an  effective  monotony  he  passed  to  a 
range  and  flexibility  of  tone  adequate  to  the  highest  pur¬ 
poses  of  the  orator.”  Demosthenes,  we  know,  was  un¬ 
wearied  in  his  efforts’  to  overcome  the  defects  in  his 
organs  of  speech.  He  had  a  weak  voice,  he  stammered, 
he  could  not  pronounce  the  first  letter  of  the  word  which 
denotes  his  own  profession,  the  r  of  Rhetor, —  a  letter 
which  sticks  in  the  throat  of  many  Englishmen  and 
Americans.*  To  remedy  these  defects,  he  practiced  speak¬ 
ing  with  pebbles  in  his  mouth,  ran  up-hill  as  he  recited, 
and  declaimed  on  the  sea-shore  amid  the  noise  of  waves 

*M.  Legouve,  in  his  recent  work  on  "L'Art  de  la  Lecture ,”  from  which  we 
have  already  quoted,  tells  an  amusing  story  of  the  way  in  which  an  actor  of  his 
acquaintance  conquered  this  difficult  letter.  “  He  was  young,  he  had  already 
some  talent  as  an  actor,  and  he  was  engaged  in  two  pursuits,  unequally  dear  to 
him,  but  equally  difficult:  he  was  laboring  at  the  same  time  to  conquer  the 
rolling  ?■,  and  the  hand  of  a  young  girl  with  whom  he  was  desperately  smitten. 
Six  months  of  toil  had  been  rewarded  with  no  more  success  in  one  case  than  in 
the  other.  The  r  was  obstinate  in  remaining  in  his  throat,  and  the  lady  in  re¬ 
maining  single.  Finally,  one  day,  or  rather  one  evening,  after  an  hour  of  sup¬ 
plications  and  of  tender  protestations,  he  touches  the  rebellious  heart;  the  lady 
says  yes !  Drunk  with  joy,  he  hurriedly  descends  the  stair-case,  and,  in  passing 
the  porter’s  lodge,  he  hurls  at  him  a  sonorous  and  triumphant:  ‘ Cordon ,  s'il 
vous  plait,!  '  0  Open,  if  you  please  !  ’)  The  r  of  cordon  has  a  pure  and  vibrat¬ 
ing  sound,  like  an  Italian  r\  The  fear  seizes  him  that  perhaps  it  is  but  a  happy 
accident.  He  repeats  it;  the  same  success!  He  can  no  longer  doubt  it;  the 
rolling?’  is  his!  And  to  whom  does  he  owe  it?  To  her  whom  he  adores.  It  is 
the  intoxication  of  the  happy  passion  which  has  wrought  this  miracle !  And 
see,—  he  returns  home,  repeating  all  along  the  way,  for  he  is  always  afraid  of 
losing  his  conquest:  ‘  Cordon ,  s'il  vous  plait!  Cordon ,  s'il  vous  plait!  Cordon ,  s'il 
vous  plait !  '  Suddenly  a  new  incident  occurs;  as  he  turns  a  street  corner,  there 
leaps  forth  from  under  his  feet, —  from  a  hole, —  an  enormous  rat!  A  rat?  An¬ 
other?”!  He  adds  it  to  the  other;  he  joins  them  together;  he  shouts  them  to¬ 
gether:  1  Tin  rat!  (a  rat)  Cordon!  Cordon!  Tin  gros  rat!  (a  great  rat)  Cordon! 
un  gros  rat!  un  gros  rat!  un  gros  rat!'  And  the  ?*’s  roll,  and  the  street  re¬ 
sounds  with  them.  He  returns  home  triumphant.  He  has  vanquished  the  two 
rebels.  He  is  loved,  and  he  vibrates!  Let  us  entitle  this  chapter:  Of  the  In¬ 
fluence  of  Love  on  Articulation.” 


QUALIFICATIONS  OF  THE  ORATOR. 


81 


and  storms.  All  the  ancient  orators,  indeed,  whether  be¬ 
cause  they  had  to  speak  to  the  multitude,  whose  senses 
must  be  struck,  and  on  whom  power  and  brilliancy  of 
voice  have  a  great  effect,  or,  because  they  bestowed  far 
more  care  on  all  the  branches  of  the  oratorical  art,  at¬ 
tached  far  greater  importance  to  vocal  culture  than 
modern  speakers.  Quintilian  contemptuously  dismisses 
those  elocutionists  who  advocate  the  exclusive  use  of  a 
simple  conversational  mode  of  speaking  by  saying:  “It 
was  not  assuredly  in  a  straight-forward  tone  of  voice 
that  Demosthenes  swore  by  the  defenders  of  Marathon 
and  Platsea  and  Salamis,  nor  was  it  in  the  monotonous 
strain  of  daily  talk  that  iEschines  bewailed  the  fate  of 
Thebes.” 

The  necessity  of  careful  attention  to  the  cultivation  of 
the  voice,  even  by  those  who  care  only  for  rhetorical  ef¬ 
fects,  is  strikingly  shown  by  its  connection  with  style. 
It  has  been  justly  said  that  a  tenor  song,  though  you 
transpose  it  a  fifth  lower,  will  not  suit  a  bass  singer; 
and  so  the  style  of  speaking  which  may  be  very  effective 
for  a  man  with  a  shrill,  keen  voice,  may  be  absolutely 
grotesque  if  attempted  by  a  man  whose  voice  is  rich  and 
deep  and  full.  You  cannot  play  on  the  flute  a  piece  of 
music  written  for  the  bass  viol.  Again,  a  man  who 
speaks  always  in  a  feeble,  low  voice, —  so  feeble  and  low 
that  “.each  one  of  his  sentences  seems  like  a  poor,  scared 
mouse  running  for  its  hole,” — will  come  at  last  to  write 
as  feebly  as  he  speaks.  “Observation,”  says  Professor  H. 
N.  Day,  “  abundantly  shows  how  a  naturally  imaginative 
and  highly  impassioned  style  may  be  gradually  changed 
into  one  that  is  dry  and  tame  by  the  continual  influence 
of  the  conviction  that  we  are  not  able  appropriately  to 


82 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


deliver  strongly  impassioned  discourse.  A  conscious  power 
and  skill  to  express  with  effect  the  most  highly-wrought 
discourse  will,  on  the  other  hand,  ever  be  stimulating  to 
the  production  of  it.”  There  are  instances,  undoubtedly, 
of  weak-lunged  speakers,  who,  owing  to  a  hereditary 
feebleness  of  constitution,  can  never,  by  any  amount  of 
vocal  culture,  attain  to  great  vocal  power.  The  example 
of  Cotta,  however,  as  he  is  described  by  Cicero,  shows 
that  such  need  not  despair  of  success  in  oratory:  “As  he 
very  prudently  avoided  every  forcible  exertion  of  his 
voice,  on  account  of  the  weakness  of  his  lungs,  so  his 
language  was  equally  adapted  to  the  delicacy  of  his  con¬ 
stitution.  Though  he  was  scarcely  able,  and  therefore 
never  attempted,  to  force  the  passions  of  his  judges  by  a 
strong  and  spirited  delivery,  yet  he  managed  them  so 
artfully  that  the  gentle  emotions  he  raised  in  them  an¬ 
swered  the  same  purpose  and  produced  the  same  effect 
as  the  violent  ones  which  were  excited  by  Sulpicius.” 

The  defects  of  a  feeble  or  husky  voice  may  be  re¬ 
deemed,  to  a  great  extent,  by  distinct  articulation.  The 
part  which  this  quality  plays  in  good  oratory,  as  well  as 
in  good  reading  and  acting,  is  immense.  Clearness,  energy, 
passion,  vehemence,  all  depend  more  or  less  upon  articu¬ 
lation.  There  have  been  actors  of  the  first  order  who 
have  had  voices  as  feeble  as  a  mouse’s.  Monvel,  the 
famous  French  actor,  had  scarcely  any  voice;  he  had  not 
even  teeth!  And  yet,  according  to  high  authority,  not 
only  did  his  hearers  never  lose  one  of  his  words,  but  no 
artist  had  ever  more  pathos  or  fascination.  The  secret 
of  his  success  was  his  exquisite  articulation.  “  The  most 
admirable  reader,”  says  M.  Legouve,  “  I  ever  knew,  was 
M.  Andrieux.  Yet  his  voice  was  more  than  weak;  it  was 


QUALIFICATIONS  OF  THE  ORATOR. 


83 


faint,  husky,  hoarse.  .  .  .  How  did  he  triumph  over  so 
many  defects?  By  articulation.  It  was  said  that  he  made 
himself  understood  by  dint  of  making  himself  heard/’  The 
same  writer  adds  that  there  are  readers,  orators,  and  actors, 
to  whom  the  very  richness  of  their  voices  is  an  inconven¬ 
ience.  As  they  know  not  how  to  articulate,  the  sound 
devours  the  word.  The  vowels  devour  the  consonants. 
Such  persons  make  so  much  noise  in  reading  and  speaking 
that  nobody  understands  them. 

It  is  remarkable  that,  dependent  as  we  are  upon  the 
organs  of  speech  for  the  communication  of  our  ideas  and 
feelings,  we  know  so  little  of  the  secret  of  the  working 
of  these  organs.  Anatomists  have  dissected  and  laid  bare 
all  the  details  of  their  complex  and  wondrous  structure, — 
they  have  shown  the  formation  of  the  larynx,  with  its 
muscles,  cartilages,  membranes,  and  tracery,  by  which 
the  vocal  sounds  are  modulated, —  but  of  the  connection 
of  these  organs  with  the  effect  produced,  they  have  told 
us  almost  nothing.  The  researches  of  the  subtlest  science 
are  here  unavailing.  We  know  that  every  voice  has  its 
natural  bell-tone,  which  makes  it  a  bass  voice,  a  tenor, 
or  a  soprano,  and  that  between  these  are  various  inter¬ 
mediate  gradations;  and  there  our  knowledge  ends.  Of 
all  these,  the  middle  voice  or  tenor,  as  Bautain  observes, 
is  the  most  favorable  for  speaking,  both  because  it  main¬ 
tains  itself  the  best,  and,  when  well  articulated,  reaches 
the  farthest.  The  upper  voice  is  undesirable  because  it 
continually  tends  to  a  scream.  Only  the  highest  intel¬ 
lectual  gifts,  with  great  personal  magnetism  and  other 
compensations,  can  atone  for  this  blemish.  A  bass  voice 
is  with  difficulty  pitched  high,  and  continually  tends 
downward.  Grave  and  majestic  at  the  outset,  it  soon 


84 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


grows  heavy  an^  monotonous;  it  has  magnificent  chords, 
but,  if  long  listened  to,  produces  often  the  effect  of  a 
drone,  and  soon  tires  and  lulls  to  sleep  by  the  medley  of 
commingling  sounds.  If  coarse  and  violent,  it  deafens 
and  stuns  the  ear;  and  when  thundering  in  a  vast  build¬ 
ing  in  which  echoes  exist,  the  billows  of  sound,  reverber¬ 
ating  from  every  side,  blend  together,  should  the  orator 
be  speaking  fast,  -and  the  result  is  a  deafening  confusion 
and  an  acoustic  chaos. 

The  middle  voice,  for  the  very  reason  that  it  is  in  the 
middle  of  the  scale,  has  the  largest  resources  for  inflec¬ 
tion,  since  it  can  rise  or  sink  with  greater  ease  than  the 
other  tones,  and  thus  allow  greater  play  to  expression. 
Possessing  a  greater  variety  of  intonations  than  the  other 
voices,  it  is  less  liable  to  monotony,  and  holds  the  atten¬ 
tion  of  the  hearer,  who  is  so  prone  to  doze.  But  what¬ 
ever  be  the  tone  of  the  voice,  the  most  desirable  quality 
it  can  possess  for  the  purposes  of  the  public  speaker,  is 
to  be  sympathetic .  The  great  merit  of  this  voice  is,  that 
not  only,  by  its  siren  tones,  does  it  propitiate  and  win 
the  hearer  in  advance,  but  it  exerts  a  steady  fascination, 
a  magnetic  influence,  which  draws  and  fastens  his  atten¬ 
tion  to  the  end,  as  if  by  some  magic  spell.  “  It  is  a 
secret  virtue  which  is  in  speech,  and  which  penetrates  at 
once,  or  little  by  little,  through  the  ear  to  the  heart  of 
those  who  listen,  charms  them,  and  holds  them  beneath 
the  charm,  to  such  a  degree  that  they  are  disposed,  not 
only  to  listen,  but  even  to  admit  what  is  said,  and  to 
receive  it  with  confidence.  It  is  a  voice  which  inspires 
an  affection  for  him  who  speaks,  and  puts  you  instinctively 
on  his  side,  so  that  his  words  find  an  echo  in  the  mind, 


QUALIFICATIONS  OF  THE  ORATOR. 


85 


repeating  there  what  he  says,  and  reproducing  it  easily 
in  the  understanding  and  heart.”  * 

It  is  not  our  business  in  this  work  to  point  out  the 
various  faults  of  speakers  in  the  management  of  the  voice, 
such  as  lack  of  proper  modulation,  indistinct  articulation, 
speaking  too  slowly  or  too  rapidly,  or  in  a  constant  mono¬ 
tone.  All  this  belongs  to  a  professional  treatise.  But  there 
is  one  fault  so  common,  especially  with  young  speakers, 
and  in  our  western  courts  and  public  assemblies,  that  we 
cannot  forbear  noticing  it.  The  great  majority,  confound¬ 
ing  loudness  with  force,  speak  in  too  high  a  key.  Like 
iEschines,  as  accused  by  Demosthenes,  when  the  former, 
at  the  close  of  his  oration  on  the  crown,  bawled  and 
mouthed  d»  I'v  ,  xa}  etc.,  they  seem  to  consider  elo¬ 

quence  as  an  affair  of  the  lungs .  It  is  a  great  mistake  to 
suppose  that  he  who  speaks  in  the  loudest  tones  can  be 
heard  the  farthest  or  the  most  easily.  Gardiner,  in  his 
“  Music  of  Nature,”  notes  a  curious  fact  in  the  history  of 
sound : — 

“  The  loudest  notes  always  perish  on  the  spot  where  they  are  produced, 
whereas  musical  notes  will  be  heard  at  a  great  distance.  Thus,  if  we  ap¬ 
proach  within  a  mile  or  two  of  a  town  or  village  in  which  a  fair  is  held,  we 
may  hear  very  faintly  the  clamor  of  the  multitude,  but  more  distinctly  the 
organs,  and  other  musical  instruments  which  are  played  for  their  amusement. 
If  a  Cremona  violin,  a  real  Amati,  be  played  by  the  side  of  a  modern  fiddle, 
the  latter  will  sound  much  louder  than  the  former;  but  the  sweet,  brilliant 
tone  of  the  Amati  will  be  heard  at  a  distance  the  other  cannot  reach.  Dr. 
Young,  on  the  authority  of  Durham,  states  that  at  Gibraltar  the  human  voice 
may  be  heard  at  a  greater  distance  than  that  of  any  other  animal;  thus,  when 
the  cottager  in  the  woods,  or  the  open  plain,  wishes  to  call  her  husband, 
who  is  working  at  a  distance,  she  does  not  shout,  but  pitches  her  voice  to  a 
musical  key,  which  she  knows  from  habit,  and  by  that  means  reaches  his 
ear.  The  loudest  roar  of  the  largest  lion  could  not  penetrate  so  far.” 

The  same  writer  states  that  when  Paganini  played  in 


*  The  remarks  in  this  and  the  preceding  paragraph,  upon  the  different 
qualities  of  voices,  are  abridged  from  the  admirable  work  of  M.  Bautain,  on 
“The  Art  of  Extempore  Speaking.” 


86 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


England,  the  connoisseurs  did  not  seek  the  nearest  seats, 
but  preferred  more  retired  places,  where  his  exquisite  in¬ 
strumentation  overrode  the  storm  of  the  orchestra. 

Besides  the  difficulty  of  being  heard  distinctly,  there 
are  other  objections  to  using  the  high  notes,  except  rarely, 
in  speaking.  Not  only  do  they  become  shrill  and  harsh  by 
excessive  use,  but  the  very  thought  of  the  speaker  may  be 
affected  by  it.  The  celebrated  French  advocate,  M.  Berryer, 
attributes  the  loss  of  an  excellent  law-case  to  his  having 
begun  his  pleading,  unconsciously,  on  too  high  a  key. 
The  fatigue  of  his  larynx  communicated  itself  speedily  to 
his  temples;  from  the  temples  it  passed  to  the  brain;  his 
mind  refused  to  act  with  vigor,  because  its  organ  was 
overstrained;  his  thoughts  became  confused;  and  the  great 
lawyer  lost  the  full  command  of  his  intellectual  faculties, 
and  with  it  of  his  case,  because  he  had  not  thought  of 
coming  down  from  the  perch  to  which  his  voice  had 
climbed  at  the  beginning  of  his  speech. 

Some  years  ago  a  writer  in  a  public  journal,  in  speak¬ 
ing  of  an  address  read  by  Dr.  Orville  Dewey,  described 
his  impressions  thus:  “And  such  reading!  quiet  and  un¬ 
pretentious,  but  with  such  appropriate  feeling  and  intense 
expressiveness !  I  was  not  prepared  for  such  a  really 
powerfully  essay  with  so  little  show  of  power.  I  better 
understand  the  mightiness  of  the  still  small  voice,  and 
recognize  an  oratory  in  condensed  feeling  and  subdued 
tones,  greater  than  the  most  showy  rhetoric  and  the 
stormiest  bluster.” 

What  a  pity  it  is  that  we  have  so  few  such  readers  in 
our  pulpits!  The  besetting  sin  of  our  preaching  to-day  is 
that  it  is  too  declamatory.  In  nine  cases  out  of  ten  it 
needs  to  be  more  conversational.  If  you  want  to  speak 


QUALIFICATIONS  OF  THE  ORATOR. 


87 


well,  said  Brougham  to  a  young  Etonian,  you  must  first 
learn  to  talk  well.  Not  that  the  heights  of  eloquence  can 
be  reached  by  this  style,  or  that  there  are  not  cases  where 
the  preacher  must  lighten  and  thunder  as  well  as  plead. 
There  are  themes  which  call  for  denunciation  and  indig¬ 
nant  invective,  and  then  only  the  sharp  and  ringing  tones 
that  belong  to  the  upper  register  will  do.  Again,  a  voice 
of  mediocre  power  may  captivate  senates,  but  only  a  mighty 
voice  can  move  a  multitude.  Of  what  use  would  the  flute¬ 
like  voice  of  Everett  have  been  to  O’Connell  in  his  “  hill¬ 
side  stormings?”  Beecher  has  well  said  that  “there  are 
cases  in  which  by  a  single  explosive  tone  a  man  will  drive 
home  a  thought  as  a  hammer  drives  a  nail.”  But  bursts 
of  oratory  are  necessarily  the  exception,  not  the  rule,  in 
a  sermon;  moreover,  few  have  the  genius  for  them;  and 
therefore  we  believe  that  there  would  be  a  great  gain  of 
power,  if  ordinarily  the  preacher  would  simply  talk  to  his 
hearers  as  a  man  talks  to  his  friend.  At  any  rate,  when 
he  does  pitch  his  voice  on  a  high  key,  he  should  have  a 
better  reason  for  so  doing  than  old  Dr.  Beecher  had  on  a 
certain  Sunday.  Coming  home  from  church,  he  said  to 
his  son  Henry,  who  tells  the  anecdote:  “It  seems  to  me  I 
never  made  a  worse  sermon  than  I  did  this  morning.” 
“  Why,  father,”  said  Henry,  “  I  never  heard  you  preach  so 
loud  in  all  my  life.”  “That  is  the  way,”  said  the  Doctor; 
“  I  always  holloa  when  I  haven’t  anything  to  say !  ” 

/rt  has  been  justly  said  by  some  writer,  that  almost 
every  one  is  surprised  on  first  hearing  Wendell  Phillips. 
You  are  looking  for  a  man  who  is  all  art,  all  thunder. 
Lo!  a  quiet  man  glides  on  to  the  platform,  and  begins 
talking  in  a  simple,  easy,  conversational  way;  presently  he 
makes  you  smile  at  some  happy  turn,  then  he  startles  you 


88 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


by  a  rapier-like  thrust,  then  he  electrifies  you  by  a  grand 
outburst  of  feeling.  “  You  listen,  believe,  applaud.  And 
that  is  Wendell  Phillips.  That  is  also  oratory, —  to  pro¬ 
duce  the  greatest  effect  by  the  quietest  means.”  We  can¬ 
not  all  be  Phillipses:  but  we  can  all  copy  his  naturalness, 
earnestness,  and  simplicity;  and  what  a  gain  even  that 
would  be  to  the  great  majority  of  preachers!  Their  main 
fault  is  not  that  they  cannot  read  Greek  and  Hebrew,  but 
that  they  cannot  read  English.  As  the  best  music,  badly 
played,  makes  wretched  melody,  so  false  or  spiritless  elocu¬ 
tion  degrades  the  finest  composition  to  a  level  with  the 
worst.  The  celebrated  Dr.  Laurence,  the  associate  of  Burke 
and  Fox,  spoke  so  badly,  in  such  an  unvarying  monotone, 
as  completely  to  neutralize  the  effect  which  his  thought 
and  learning  were  fitted  to  produce.  Fox  said  that  a  man 
should  listen,  if  possible,  to  a  speech  of  the  Doctor's,  and 
then  speak  it  over  again  himself;  it  must,  he  thought,  suc¬ 
ceed  infallibly,  for  it  was  sure  to  be  admirable  of  itself,  and 
of  being  new  to  the  audience.  While  such  are  the  effects 
of  a  languid,  drawling  delivery,  who,  on  the  other  hand, 
does  not  know  the  sorcery  that  lies  in  a  skillful  utterance, 
which  properly  distributes  the  lights  and  shadows  of  a 
musical  intonation?  By  sonorous  depth  and  melodious 
cadences, —  by  a  distinct  articulation,  which  chisels  and 
engraves  the  thoughts, —  even  the  most  trivial  sentiments 
may  be  invested  with  a  force  and  fascination  almost  irre¬ 
sistible.  As  a  good  singer  cares  little  for  the  words  of  a 
song,  knowing  that  he  can  make  any  words  glorious,  so 
the  orator  can  infuse  power  and  pathos  into  the  tamest 
language.  There  is  hardly  any  person  familiar  with  pulpit 
eloquence  who  does  not  know  that  some  of  the  profound- 
est  and  most  scholarly  discourses, —  discourses  which,  when 


QUALIFICATIONS  OF  THE  ORATOR 


89 


read,  seem  full  of  concentrated  thought  and  vigorous 
expression, —  have  fallen  almost  powerless  from  the  lips 
of  their  authors,  while  a  single  verse  of  Scripture,  or  a 
line  from  an  old  and  familiar  hymn,  coming  from  the  lips 
of  another  man,  has  acted  like  an  electric  shock,  “  tear¬ 
ing  and  shattering  the  heart,”  to  use  De  Quincey’s  figure, 
“  with  volleying  discharges,  peal  after  peal.”* 

Of  all  the  qualifications  of  the  orator  which  we  have 
named,  none  is  more  essential  than  energy, —  physical  and 
intellectual  force.  Cicero  sums  up  the  whole  art  of  speak¬ 
ing  in  four  words, —  apte,  distincte ,  ornate  clicere ;  to  speak 
to  the  purpose,  to  speak  clearly  and  distinctly,  to  speak 
gracefully.  To-day  it  is  important  also  to  speak  with  force. 
This  is  especially  requisite  to-day,  because  the  age  itself 
is  full  of  force,  and  therefore  impatient  of  feebleness.  By 
force  we  mean  the  energy  (etymologically,  the  inward¬ 
workingness,)  with  which  the  speaker  employs  his  various 
abilities  to  make  us  see  and  feel  that  which  he  would  im¬ 
press  upon  our  minds.  It  is  not  a  single  faculty,  but  the 
whole  strength  of  his  soul  bearing  upon  ours.  It  was 
this  quality  to  which  Demosthenes  must  have  referred  in 


*  It  is  a  common  error  to  suppose  that  special  attention  to  elocution  leads 
to  affectation  and  mannerism.  The  very  reverse  is  the  fact.  Affectation  is  the 
result  of  untaught  efforts  at  a  late  age  to  rid  one’s  self  of  the  vulgarisms,  pro¬ 
vincialisms,  slovenliness,  indistinctness,  and  other  faults  of  school-boy  days. 
The  reason  why  so  many  persons  who  study  elocution  fail  to  profit  by  it,  is  that 
they  begin  too  late.  The  rustic  who  late  in  life  apes  the  gentleman,  is  sure  to  be 
affected;  not  so  with  him  who  is  “to  the  manner  born.”  Let  all  persons  who 
are  to  be  public  speakers  be  trained  early  and  scientifically  in  the  management 
of  their  voices,  as  an  essential  part  of  their  education, —  let  them  be  drilled  and 
practised  for  years,  till  they  have  acquired  the  last  great  art,  that  of  concealing 
art,—  and  we  shall  no  longer  listen  to  discourses  which,  like  Milton’s  infernal 
gates,  grate  on  our  ears  “  harsh  thunder,”  or  which,  like  Shelley’s  waves  on  the 
sea-shore,  breathe  over  the  slumbering  brain  a  dull  monotony,  but  to  a  pleasing, 
forcible,  and  effective  delivery,  “musical  as  is  Apollo’s  lute”;  and  “sore 
throats,”  the  result  of  unnatural  tones  and  straining,  will  disappear  from  the 
catalogue  of  clerical  ills. 

4* 


90 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


his  reiterated  z,b7](n<;, —  the  “action,  action,  action,’1  on 
which  he  laid  such  stress.  A  speech  may  be  packed  full 
of  thought,  tersely  and  felicitously  expressed;  its  facts  may 
be  apt,  its  style  elegant,  and  its  logic  without  a  flaw;  and 
yet  if  it  lack  fire  and  spirit,  or  if  it  be  tamely  delivered, 
it  will  make  but  a  weak  impression.  On  the  other  hand,  a 
production  which  is  intellectually  far  inferior  to  it, —  which 
is  full  of  bad  rhetoric  and  worse  logic, —  which  is  one-sided 
in  its  views,  and  made  up  of  the  most  hackneyed  material, — 
will  make  a  powerful  impression  for  the  hour  (which  is 
commonly  the  end  of  speaking),  if  the  orator  be  energetic, 
and  infuse  that  energy  into  his  performance.  As  in  po¬ 
litical  administration  errors  and  even  grdss  blunders  are 
pardoned,  if  the  main  end  is  attained,  so  a  speech  may  be 
full  of  faults,  and  yet  be  successful,  if  it  be  full  of  energy. 

Force  is  partly  a  physical  product,  and  partly  mental;  it 
is  the  life  of  oratory,  which  gives  it  breath,  and  fire,  and 
power.  It  is  the  electrical  element,  that  which  smites, 
penetrates,  and  thrills.  While  listening  to  a  speaker  who 
has  this  property  of  eloquence,  “our  minds  seem  to  be 
pricked  as  with  needles,  and  pierced  as  with  javelins.”  It 
does  not  necessarily  imply  vehemence.  There  may  be  en¬ 
ergy,  as  we  shall  presently  show,  in  suppressed  feeling,  in 
deep  pathos,  in  simple  description,  nay,  even  in  silence 
itself.  There  is  often  an  appearance  of  energy  where  there 
is  no  reality, —  a  tug  and  strain  to  be  forcible,  without 
calm  inward  power.  “  The  aspiration  is  infinite,  but  the 
performance  is  infinitesimal.”  In  the  highest  examples  of 
energy,  there  is  no  appearance  of  exertion;  we  see  only 
power  “  half-leaning  on  its  own  right  arm,”  the  Athlete 
conquering  without  a  visible  strain  or  contortion.  In 
Guido’s  picture  of  St.  Michael  piercing  the  dragon,  while 


QUALIFICATIONS  OF  THE  ORATOR. 


91 


the  gnarled  muscles  of  the  arm  and  hand  attest  the  utmost 
strain  of  the  strength,  the  countenance  remains  placid  and 
serene. 

Demosthenes,  if  we  may  judge  by  an  oft-quoted  say¬ 
ing  of  an  enemy,  must  have  had  an  almost  superhuman 
force.  “  What,”  exclaimed  iEschines  to  the  Rhodians,  when 
they  applauded  the  recital  of  the  speech  which  caused  his 
banishment, — “  what  if  you  had  heard  the  monster  him¬ 
self?”  Lord  Chatham’s  oratory  was  strikingly  character¬ 
ized  by  force.  A  large  part  of  his  success  was  due  to  his 
imperial  positiveness  of  character.  Possessing  a  vigorous, 
acute,  and  comprehensive  intellect,  he  saw  at  a  glance  what 
most  men  discover  by  laborious  processes  of  reasoning,  and 
flashed  his  thoughts  upon  other  minds  with  the  vividness, 
rapidity,  and  abruptness  with  which  they  arose  in  his  own. 
Scorning  the  slow,  formal  methods  of  the  logician,  he 
crushed  together  proof  and  statement  in  the  same  sentence, 
and  reached  his  conclusions  at  a  single  bound.  As  John 
Foster  said,  “  he  struck  on  the  results  of  reasoning  as  a 
cannon-shot  strikes  the  mark,  without  your  seeing  its 
course  through  the  air.”  Lord  Brougham  is  a  yet  more 
signal  example  of  this  quality  in  oratory,  because  he  owes 
his  victories  almost  to  it  alone.  Possessing  little  personal 
magnetism, —  at  least,  of  the  kind  that  fascinates  and 
charms;  careless  in  his  statements,  inaccurate  in  his  quota¬ 
tions,  lame  in  his  logic,  and  intensely  partisan  in  his  views; 
displaying  little  literary  skill  in  the  composition  of  his 
speeches,  which  are  often  involved  and  sometimes  lumber¬ 
ing  in  style,  and  almost  always  devoid  of  elegance  or 
polish ;  addicted  to  exaggeration  and  a  kind  of  hyperbolical 
iteration  in  which  there  is  sometimes  “  more  potter  than 
power”;  he  is  yet,  in  spite  of  these  faults,  one  of  the  most 


92 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


potent  and  successful  orators  of  the  century,  simply  because 
of  his  intense,  gladiator-like  energy.  All  his  discourses 
throb  and  palpitate  with  a  robust  life. 

Even  Chatham  and  Brougham  were,  if  possible,  sur¬ 
passed  in  force, —  at  least,  in  the  union  of  physical  and  in¬ 
tellectual  energy, — by  the  master-spirit  of  the  French  Revo¬ 
lution.  The  orator  of  all  the  ages  most  remarkable  for  force 
was  Mirabeau.  It  seemed,  at  times,  as  if  the  iron  chain  of 
his  argument  were  fastened  to  an  electric  battery,  every 
link  of  which  gave  you  a  shock.  William  Wirt  tells  us 
that  President  Jefferson,  who  heard  Mirabeau  while  minis¬ 
ter  to  France,  spoke  of  him  as  uniting  two  distinct  and 
perfect  characters  in  himself,  whenever  he  pleased, —  the 
mere  logician,  with  a  mind  apparently  as  desolate  and 
sterile  as  the  sands  of  Arabia,  but  reasoning  at  such  times 
with  an  Herculean  force  which  nothing  could  resist;  and, 
at  other  times,  bursting  forth  with  a  flood  of  eloquence 
more  sublime  than  Milton  ever  imputed  to  the  seraphim 
and  cherubim,  and  bearing  all  before  him.  The  same  force 
characterized  the  speaking  of  Chief  Justice  Marshall,  when 
at  the  bar.  No  matter  what  the  question;  though  ten 
times  more  knotty  than  “the  gnarled  oak,”  he  penetrated 
at  once  to  its  core, —  to  the  point  on  which  the  controversy 
depended;  and  seizing  the  attention  with  irresistible  ener¬ 
gy,  he  never  permitted  it  to  elude  his  grasp,  until  he  had 
forced  his  convictions  on  his  hearers. 

It  is  to  his  energy  that  the  so-called  natural  orator  owes 
his  power  over  his  fellow-men.  It  is  in  his  strength  and 
intensity  of  character, — in  his  determined  will,  his  triumph¬ 
ant  self-assertion,  his  positiveness  and  overbearingness, — 
that  lurks  his  magic.  By  the  sheer  force  of  enthusiasm 
and  animal  passion, —  by  his  glowing  periods  and  “sen- 


QUALIFICATIONS  OF  THE  ORATOR. 


93 


tences  of  a  venturous  edge,” — he  rouses  audiences  to  a 
pitch  of  excitement  to  which  the  polished  and  dainty 
rhetorician  seeks  to  uplift  them  in  vain.  Some  one  has 
said  that  eloquence  is  a  sort  of  majesty,  a  species  of 
kingly  .power ;  and  men  acknowledge  the  mastery  of  those 
only  who  have  in  their  natures  a  strong  element  of  self- 
assertion.  The  very  authority,  and  even  audacity  with 
which  they  affirm  a  thing,  makes  half  the  world  believe 
it  true.  In  like  manner,  the  principal,  if  not  the  sole 
cause  of  the  success  of  the  radical  orator  of  the  present 
day,  is  his  force.  “  He  is  a  man  of  one  lone  idea,  and 
if  this  happens  to  be  a  great  and  fundamental  one,  as  it 
sometimes  does,  it  is  apprehended  upon  one  of  its  sides 
only.  As  a  consequence,  he  is  an  intense  man,  a  forcible 
man.  His  utterances  penetrate.  It  is  true  that  there 
are  among  this  class  some  of  less  earnest  spirit,  and  less 
energetic  temper;  amateur  reformers,  who  wish  to  make 
an  impression  upon  the  public  mind  from  motives  of 
mere  vanity.  Such  men  are  exceedingly  feeble,  and  soon 
desist  from  their  undertaking.  For  while  the  common 
mind  is  ever  ready,  too  ready,  to  listen  to  a  really  ear¬ 
nest  and  forcible  man,  even  though  his  force  proceeds 
from  a  wrong  source,  and  sets  in  an  altogether  wrong 
direction,  it  yet  loathes  a  lukewarm  earnestness,  a  coun¬ 
terfeited  enthusiasm.  One  of  the  most  telling  characters, 
in  one  of  the  most  brilliant  English  comedies,  is  Forcible 
Feeble.  Take  away  from  the  man  who  goes  now  by  the 
name  of  reformer, —  the  half-educated  man  who  sees  the 
truth  but  not  the  ivhole  truth, —  take  away  from  him  his 
force,  and  you  take  away  his  muscular  system.  He  in¬ 
stantaneously  collapses  into  a  flabby  pulp.” 

It  was  well  observed  some  years  ago,  bv  an  American 


94 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


orator  who  had  closely  studied  his  art,  that  the  florid  and 
Asiatic  style  of  eloquence  is  not  the  taste  of  the  age. 
The  strong,  and  even  the  rugged  and  the  abrupt,  he  as¬ 
serted,  are  far  more  successful.  “  Bold  propositions, 
boldly  and  briefly  expressed, —  pithy  sentences, —  nervous 
common  sense, —  strong  phrases, —  the  felicite  audax,  both 
in  language  and  conception, — well  compacted  periods, — 
sudden  and  strong  masses  of  light, —  an  apt  adage  in 
English  or  Latin, —  a  keen  sarcasm, —  a  merciless  person¬ 
ality, —  a  mortal  thrust, —  these  are  the  beauties  and  de¬ 
formities  that  now  make  a  speaker  the  most  interest¬ 
ing.”  *  “  In  your  arguments  at  the  bar,"  he  says  again, 

addressing  a  young  friend,  “  let  argument  strongly  pre¬ 
dominate.  Sacrifice  your  flowers,  and  let  your  columns 
be  Doric,  rather  than  Composite, —  the  better  medium  is 
Ionic.  Avoid,  as  you  would  the  gates  of  death,  the  repu¬ 
tation  of  floridity.  Small  though  your  body,  let  the 
march  of  your  mind  be  the  stride  of  a  seven-leagued 
giant.” 

Energy  is  greatly  increased  by  interrogation.  A  hearer 
who  is  listless  while  assertions  only  are  made,  will  often 
prick  up  his  ears  when  he  is  appealed  to  by  a  question. 
Cicero  begins  his  first  oration  against  Catiline  in  this 
way,  and  Demosthenes  employs  this  figure  with  great  ef¬ 
fect  in  his  Philippics,  and  in  the  speech  on  the  Crown: 
“  Will  you  continue  to  go  about  to  each  other  and  ask, 
What’s  the  news?  Can  anything  be  more  new  than  that 
a  man  from  Macedonia  should  subjugate  Greece?  Is 
Philip  dead?  No,  indeed;  but  he  is  ill.  What  matters 
it  to  you?  —  to  you,  who,  if  he  were  to  come  to  grief, 
would  quickly  get  yourselves  another  Philip?”  Chat- 

*  William  Wirt,—  “  Memoirs  ”  by  J.  P.  Kennedy,  1849. 


QUALIFICATIONS  OF  THE  ORATOR. 


95 


ham,  in  one  of  his  superb  outbursts,  demands,  “  Who  is 
the  man  that  .  .  .  has  dared  to  authorize  and  associate 
to  our  arms  the  tomahawk  and  scalping-knife  of  the 
savage?”  Cicero  tells  us  that  the  very  enemies  of  Grac¬ 
chus  could  not  help  weeping,  when  he  delivered  this  pas¬ 
sage:  “  Whither  shall  such  a  miserable  wretch  as  I  be¬ 
take  myself?  Whither  shall  I  turn?  To  the  Capitol? 
But  that  swimsr  with  my  brother’s  blood.  Shall  I  go  to 
my  own  house?  Would  I  not  there  see  my  mother,  mis¬ 
erable,  wailing,  and  degraded?” 

Exclamation  and  apostrophe ,  which  suppose  great  in¬ 
tensity  of  emotion,  add  very  much  to  energy.  To  be 
effective,  the  apostrophe  should  be  brief,  and,  apparently, 
from  the  impulse  of  the  moment;  else,  m  the  one  case, 
there  will  be  no  illusion,  or,  in  the  other,  it  will  quickly 
vanish.  There  is  hardly  any  other  figure  which  requires 
so  much  skill  to  manage  it,  or  in  which  failure  makes  a 
speaker  so  ridiculous.  Among  the  most  celebrated  or¬ 
atorical  apostrophes  may  be  mentioned  that  of  Demos¬ 
thenes  to  the  manes  of  the  heroes  who  fell  at  Marathon, 
that  of  iEschines  to  Thebes,  and  that  of  Cicero  in  his 
oration  against  Verres,  in  which  he  describes  the  cruci¬ 
fixion  of  a  Roman  citizen.  There  are  also  striking  ex¬ 
amples  of  apostrophe  raised  to  vision  in  the  peroration 
of  Robert  Hall’s  Sermon  on  the  Threatened  Invasion  of 
1803,  and  in  the  famous  passage  in  Erskine’s  defense  of 
Stockdale,  in  which  he  introduces  the  Indian  Chief. 

Gesture  is  almost  essential  to  energetic  speaking;  we 
say  almost,  for  we  remember  that  some  speakers  have 
made  hardly  a  gesture,  and  yet  have  delivered  them¬ 
selves  with  the  greatest  excitement  and  passion,  and  pro¬ 
duced  a  deep  and  abiding  impression.  The  history  of 


96  ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 

eloquence  shows  that  gesticulation  is  a  most  powerful  ex¬ 
ponent  of  emotion,  and  may  add  almost  incredible  force 
to  the  utterance  of  the  tongue.  Who  that  has  seen  a 
Kean  or  a  Siddons,  a  Clay,  a  Choate,  or  a  Gough,  can  be 
ignorant  of  the  increased  significance  which  may  be  given 
to  words  by  a  glance  of  the  eye,  a  motion,  or  a  wave  of 
the  hand?  Gavazzi  moved  English  audiences  by  his  looks 
and  gestures  alone.  Some  fifty  years  ago  there  was  an 
eloquent  Lutheran  clergyman  in  Baltimore  whose  action 
was  so  impressive,  that  a  highly  cultivated  Massachusetts 
clergyman  who  heard  him  preach,  but  who  was  wholly 
ignorant  of  the  German  language  in  which  he  spoke,  was 
moved  to  tears.  The  hearer  felt  confident  that  the  dis¬ 
course  was  upon  the  Prodigal  Son,  and,  upon  leaving  the 
church,  was  told  that  such  was  the  fact.  Daniel  Webster 
was  usually  parsimonious  of  gestures,  but  those  which  he 
chose  to  make  were  often  signally  apt  and  telling.  In 
speaking  of  the  Buffalo  platform  in  1848,  he  said:  “It  is  so 
rickety  that  it  will  hardly  bear  the  fox-like  tread  of  Mr. 
Van  Buren.”  As  he  said  “  fox-like  tread/’  he  held  out  the 
palm  of  his  left  hand,  and  with  the  other  played  his  fingers 
along  his  extended  arm  down  to  the  hand,  with  a  soft 
running  motion,  as  if  to  represent  the  kitten-like  advance 
of  the  foxy  advocate  upon  his  rickety  platform.  A  shout 
of  laughter  testified  to  the  aptness  of  this  sign-teaching. 

The  speaker  who  feels  his  subject  deeply  will  feel  it  in 
his  very  finger-tips.  Even  the  foot,  in  giving  expression 
to  violent  emotion,  or  in  giving  attitude  and  dignity  to 
the  figure,  is  no  mean  auxiliary  to  the  other  organs. 
Among  the  ancients  the  supplosio  pedis,  or  stamping  of 
the  foot,  was  one  of  the  commonest  and  most  moderate 
gestures.  Quintilian  even  asserts  that  gesture  is  com- 


QUALIFICATIONS  OF  THE  ORATOR. 


97 


monly  more  expressive  than  the  voice.  He  adds  that, 
without  the  hands,  delivery  would  be  maimed  and  feeble. 
Other  parts  of  the  body  aid  the  speaker,  but  the  hands 
themselves  speak:  “  Do  we  not  with  them  ask,  promise, 
call,  threaten,  detest,  fear,  interrogate,  deny?  Do  we  not 
with  them  express  joy,  sorrow,  doubt,  penitence,  modera¬ 
tion,  abundance,  number,  time?  And,  amidst  the  great 
diversity  of  tongues,  in  all  races  and  nations,  is  not  this 
language  common  to  all  111611?”* 

Profound  feeling  or  violent  passion  is  rarely  satisfied 
with  any  expression  of  itself  that  is  possible  in  mere  words ; 
it  feels  itself  to  be  “  cribbed  and  confined  ”  till  it  can 
find  an  outlet  in  some  apt  bodily  act  or  emotion.  Such 
acts  are  even  more  truly  than  words  the  language  of 
nature,  though  they  may  not  be  as  significant.  It  is  for  this 
reason  that  oratory,  in  its  power  of  expression,  is  so  su¬ 
perior  to  all  the  other  arts.  Addressing  themselves  as 
they  do  exclusively  to  one  or  the  other  of  “  the  two  art- 
senses,” —  poetry  and  music  to  the  ear,  painting  and  sculp¬ 
ture  to  the  eye,  only, —  they  must  yield  the  palm  to  ora- 
torv,  which  addresses  itself  at  once  both  to  the  ear  and 
to  the  eye,  and  has  thus  a  twofold  means  of  impression. 
Not  only  is  gesture  more  expressive,  in  many  cases,  than 
words,  but  it  is  also  more  rapid  and  sudden  in  its  effects 
than  the  aptest  language  can  be.  It  has  been  truly  said 
that  the  sidelong  glance,  the  drooping  lid,  the  expanded 
nostril,  the  curving  lip,  are  more  instantaneously  eloquent 
than  any  mere  expression  of  disdain;  and  the  starting 
eye-ball  and  open  mouth  tell  more  of  terror  than  the 
most  abject  words.  M.  Charma,  in  his  Essai  sur  le  Lan- 

*  For  a  full  treatment  of  this  subject,  see  the  excellent  “  Manual  of  Ges¬ 
ture,”  by  Albert  M.  Bacon,  A.M.,  published  by  S.  C.  Griggs  &  Co.,  Chicago. 

5 


98 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


gage ,  tells  an  anecdote  of  the  actor  Talma,  that,  disgusted 
at  the  disproportion  of  praise  which  was  attributed  to  the 
words  of  the  poets,  by  which  he  produced  in  the  theatre 
such  thrilling  effects,  he  one  day,  in  the  midst  of  a  gay 
circle  of  friends,  suddenly  retreated  a  step,  passed  his 
hand  over  his  forehead,  and  gave  to  his  voice  and  figure 
the  expression  of  the  profoundest  despair.  The  assembly 
grew  silent,  pale,  and  shuddering,  as  though  (Edipus  had 
appeared  among  them,  when,  as  by  a  lightning-flash,  his 
parricide  was  revealed  to  him,  or  as  though  the  avenging 
Furies  had  suddenly  startled  them  with  their  gleaming 
torches.  Yet  the  words  which  the  actor  spoke  with  that 
aspect  of  consternation  and  voice  of  anguish  formed  but 
the  fragment  of  a  nursery  song,  and  the  effects  of  action 
triumphed  over  those  produced  by  words.* 

Of  course,  gesticulation  may  be  overdone,  like  empha¬ 
sis,  in  which  case  it  only  enfeebles  the  thought.  To  be 
effective,  it  should  be  prompt  and  instinctive,  now  easy 
and  quiet,  now  strong  and  animated,  but  always  graceful 
and  natural.  A  single  gesture  in  a  passage,  if  it  be  apt 
and  telling,  will  often  produce  more  effect  than  a  dozen 
equally  significant.  Too  little  gesture  is  as  unnatural  as 
too  much.  It  is  strange  that  the  happy  medium  is  so 
rarely  observed,  considering  that  every  child  is  an  illus¬ 
tration  of  its  proper  use,  and  that  we  may  see  examples 
of  it  in  almost  every  man  that  talks  to  his  neighbor  on 
the  street.  There  are  few  speakers  who  do  not  impair 
the  effect  of  their  gesticulation  by  some  excess  or  man¬ 
nerism.  One  orator  gesticulates  with  his  left  hand 
chiefly;  another  keeps  his  elbows  pinioned  to  his  sides; 
another  enforces  his  arguments  by  pommelling  the  desk  or 

♦“Chapters  on  Language,”  by  Rev.  F.  W.  Farrar,  D.D.,  F.R.S.,  p.  67-8. 


QUALIFICATIONS  OF  THE  ORATOR. 


99 


table  at  frequent  intervals;  another  uses  his  hands  “as  if 
he  had  claws,  pawing  with  them ” ;  another  cannot  utter 
a  sentence  without  sawing  himself  backward  and  forward, 
like  the  mast  of  a  yacht  at  anchor;  another  folds  his  arms 
over  his  chest,  a  la  Pitt;  another  has  a  trick  of  rising 
often  on  tiptoe,  as  if  he  had  been  accustomed  to  addressing 
his  audience  over  a  high  wall;  another  paces  the  platform 
to  and  fro,  like  a  wild  beast  in  a  cage;  and  another, 
despairing,  after  many  attempts,  of  suiting  the  action  to 
the  word,  thrusts  the  means  of  action,  his  hands,  into  his 
breeches  pockets.  It  has  been  observed  that  young  speakers 
are  especially  apt  to  overdo  in  gesture,  reminding  one,  by 
the  constant  motion  of  their  arms,  of  the  flapping  of  a 
pair  of  wings.  At  one  of  the  Intercollegiate  Contests  in 
the  Academy  of  Music,  in  New  York  city,  it  was  noticed 
that  some  of  the  students  had  scarcely  advanced  to  the 
front  of  the  stage,  before  they  went  “  flying  all  abroad. ”  « 
Expression  of  countenance  is  essential  to  energy.  Not 
only  the  hands,  but  the  eyes,  the  lips,  even  the  nostrils 
should  speak,  for  this  is  the  universal  language  of  nature, 
which  needs  no  dictionary  or  interpreter.  There  is  a 
tradition  that  the  famous  conspiracy  of  the  Sicilian  ves¬ 
pers  was  organized  wholly  by  facial  signs,  not  even  the 
hands, —  the  loquacissimae  manus ,  linguosi  digiti ,  as  Cas- 
siodorus  calls  them, —  being  employed.  The  eye  is  so 
expressive  that  it  is  said  that  gamblers  rely  upon  the 
study  of  it,  to  discover  the  state  of  an  opponent’s  game, 
more  than  upon  any  other  means.  No  rules  can  be  laid 
down  upon  this  subject;  it  is  enough  to  say  that  the 
facial  expressions  should  correspond  to  the  sentiments 
uttered,  and  this,  where  there  is  deep  feeling,  may  safely 
be  left  to  nature. 


100 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


Energy  depends  much  upon  the  choice  and  number  of 
words.  Cicero,  who  loved  a  copious  style,  tells  us  that  he 
never  heard  of  a  Lacedaemonian  orator;  and  it  is  certain 
that  a  succession  of  epigrammatic  sayings,  or  aphorisms, 
would  be  a  very  poor  speech.  When  an  orator  is  full  of 
his  subject,  and  his  mind  is  swelling  with  the  thoughts, 
and  his  soul  with  the  feelings  which  his  theme  inspires, 
until  there  is  a  fountain-head  of  ideas  pressing  at  his 
lips  for  utterance,  he  will  not  express  himself  in  a  series 
of  curt  sentences,  however  pithy  or  pointed.  If  there  is 
a  tide  in  his  soul,  there  will  be  a  flow  in  his  eloquence, 
and  he  will  not  dam  it  up  in  pools  by  too  frequent  periods. 
Nevertheless,  it  is  a  rule,  as  Southey  says,  that  it  is  with 
words  as  with  sunbeams;  the  more  they  are  condensed 
the  deeper  they  burn.  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  says  that 
Titian  knew  how  to  place  upon  the  canvas  the  image  and 
character  of  any  object  he  attempted,  by  a  few  strokes 
of  the  pencil,  and  that  he  thus  produced  a  truer  repre¬ 
sentation  than  any  of  his  predecessors  who  finished  every 
hair.  So  the  great  orators,  Henry,  Chatham,  Erskine, 
wrought.  They  grouped  instead  of  analyzing,  and  pro¬ 
duced,  by  a  few  master-touches,  effects  which  pre-Raphael- 
ite  minuteness  and  laborious  finish  would  have  marred. 
This  suggestive  speaking,  which,  instead  of  exhausting 
subjects  and  explaining  everything  to  death,  leaves  much 
to  the  imagination,  is  demanded  now  even  more  imperi¬ 
ously  than  in  the  days  of  Chatham.  Men  think  and  act 
quickly,  with  all  their  faculties  on  the  alert;  and  the 
long-winded  speeches  and  discourses,  with  endless  divisions 
and  subdivisions,  to  which  men  listened  patiently  two 
centuries  ago,  would  now  be  regarded  as  utterly  intolera¬ 
ble.  Let  the  young  speaker,  then,  prune  away  all  redundant 


N 


QUALIFICATIONS  OF  THE  ORATOR. 


101 


words,  all  parasitical  epithets,  using  only  those  that  double 
and  triple  the  force  of  the  substantive.  Be  chary  of  words 
and  phrases;  economize  them  as  a  miser  does  his  eagles. 
“  The  people,”  says  a  French  writer,  “  affect  those  thoughts 
that  are  formulated  in  a  single  word.  They  like  such 
expressions  as  the  following, —  vive !  ...  a  has!  .  .  .  mort! 
.  .  .  vengeance!  .  .  .  liberte!  .  .  .  justice!  The  harangues 
of  Napoleon  lasted  only  a  few  minutes,  yet  they  electri¬ 
fied  whole  armies.  The  speech  at  Bordeaux  did  not  ex¬ 
ceed  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  and  yet  it  resounded  through¬ 
out  the  world.” 

An  eloquent  preacher*  has  remarked  that  energy  should 
be  accrescent.  Nothing  seizes  the  attention  of  an  audience 
better  than  a  gentle  beginning.  Of  course,  a  speaker  should 
be  in  earnest  from  the  very  start,  his  looks,  action,  bearing, 
and  tones  of  voice  all  indicating  that  he  has  something  im¬ 
portant  to  communicate,  and  that  he  is  anxious  to  communi¬ 
cate  it.  Still,  “  his  energy  should  gradually  rise  in  thought, 
language  and  manner.  His  hearers  are  not  prepared  to 
sympathize  with  him  at  once;  and,  then,  his  vehemence 
appears  impertinent.  It  is  far  better  to  win  their  atten¬ 
tion  by  a  gentler  method;  nay,  even  to  lull  them,  hus¬ 
banding  all  our  resources  of  power  until  their  attention 
is  fairly  enchained,  and  then  to  sweep  them  on  with  us, 
never  suffering  their  interest  to  |ag.  Some  have  the  talent 
of  taking  an  audience  by  storm,  but  it  is  very  difficult  to 
keep  up  the  excitement,  and,  in  a  failure  to  do  so,  the 
thoughts  that  follow  are  made  to  seem  weaker  than  they 
really  are,  by  the  contrast.  There  should  be  a  continual 
ascent  to  the  close,  that  close  being  the  most  impressive 
of  all.  ...  Be  sure  that  the  final  sentence  leaves  every 


*  George  W.  Bethune,  D.D. 


102 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


soul  vibrating  like  a  swept  harp.”  The  famous  passage 
on  Universal  Emancipation  in  Curran’s  defense  of  Rowan 
is  a  fine  specimen  of  climacteric  energy.  As  sentence 
follows  after  sentence,  each  heightens  and  deepens  the 
effect,  till  the  passage  closes  with  the  magnificent  climax  at 
the  end,  like  the  swell  and  crash  of  an  orchestra.  Erskine 
was  peculiarly  happy  in  thus  aggravating  and  intensifying 
the  force  of  his  appeals.  As  wTe  read  his  jury  addresses, 
we  see  that  he  never  for  a  moment  dissipates  or  scatters 
his  force,  but  compels  rill  after  rill,  stream  after  stream, 
of  fact  and  argument,  to  flow  together,  “each  small,  per¬ 
il  aps,  in  itself,  but  all  contributing  to  swell  the  mighty 
flood  that  bursts  upon  us  in  the  cataract  of  his  conclusion.” 
It  is  said  of  an  eloquent  and  successful  Boston  preacher, 
that  as  he  was  about  to  close  his  discourse,  there  was  no 
such  visible  gathering  up  of  his  forces  as  pointed  to  a 
climax,  but  the  result  of  all  he  had  said  was  rolled  and 
hammered  into  a  few  short  sentences,  shot  with  the  crack 
and  directness  of  a  rifle, —  and  the  sermon  was  ended.  So 
cleverly  was  the  work  done,  that  the  hearer  went  away 
with  hardly  a  thought  of  the  preacher  or  his  performance, 
but  with  a  divine  thought  lodged  in  his  mind,  which  he 
would  carry  with  him  to  his  grave. 


CHAPTER  IY. 


QUALIFICATIONS  OF  THE  ORATOR  {continued). 

0 

A  MONG  the  faculties  demanded  by  the  orator,  few  are 
more  essential  to  high  success  than  a  lively  imag¬ 
ination.  He  needs  this  not  only  that  he  may  be  able  to 
fix  his  plan  well  in  his  mind  and  retain  it  there,  but  in 
order  that  he  may  have  clear,  distinct,  and  vivid  concep¬ 
tions  of  that  which  he  wishes  to  say,  and  may  be  able 
to  put  both  his  premeditated  thought  and  any  new 
thought  that  occurs  to  him  instantly  into  language  at 
the  first  stroke.  It  must  not  be  supposed  that  the  tropes 
and  illustrations  which  the '  imagination  supplies  are 
purely  ornamental.  The  difference  between  languid 
speaking  and  vivid  oratory  depends  largely  upon  the  qual¬ 
ity  of  the  speaker’s  imagination.  The  plumage  of  the 
eagle  supports  it  in  its  flight.  It  is  not  by  naked,  bold 
statements  of  fact,  but  by  pictures  that  make  them  see 
the  facts,  that  assemblies  are  moved.  Put  an  argument 
into  concrete  shape, —  into  a  lively  image,  or  into  “some 
hard  phrase,  round  and  solid  as  a  ball,  which  men  can 
see  and  handle  and  carry  home,1' — and  your  cause  is 
half  won.  Rufus  Choate  used  to  say  that  no  train  of 
thought  is  too  deep,  too  subtle,  or  too  grand,  for  a  popular 
audience,  if  the  thought  is  rightly  presented  to  them.  It 
should  be  conveyed,  he  said,  in  anecdote,  or  sparkling 
truism,  or  telling  illustration,  or  stinging  epithet, —  never 
in  a  logical,  abstract  shape. 


103 


104 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


Aristotle  has  well  said  that  “  the  metaphor  is  the  or- 
itor’s  figure,  the  simile  is  the  poet’s.”  He  further  ob¬ 
serves  that  mere  names  carry  to  the  mind  of  the  hearer 
their  specific  meaning,  and  there  they  end;  but  meta¬ 
phors  do  more  than  this,  for  they  awaken  new  thoughts. 
He  might  have  added  that  metaphors  charm  the  fancy, 
and  are,  therefore,  a  great  help  to  the  memory.  They 
deepen  the  impression  of  the  sentiments,  and  fix  them  in 
the  affections.  The  superiority,  in  value,  of  the  meta¬ 
phor  to  the  simile,  for  the  speaker’s  uses,  is  that  it  is 
swift  and  glancing,  flashing  its  light  instantaneously, 
without  ever  for  a  moment  impeding  the  flow  of  the 
thought.  Unlike  the  thoughts,  the  tropes  and  figures  of 
the  orator  are  rarely  elaborated,  but  drop  spontaneously 
from  his  tongue  in  moments  of  inspiration.  He  thinks 
in  metaphor.  He  can  no  more  invent  them  than  he  can, 
by  taking  thought,  add  a  cubit  to  his  stature.  Of  all  the 
orators  of  ancient  or  modern  times,  Burke  was  the  great¬ 
est  master  of  this  figure,  which  he  employs  sometimes  to 
excess.  Probably  no  prose  style  ever  went  so  near  to  the 
verge  of  poetry  without  going  over,  as  his;  “it  may  be 
said,”  says  Hazlitt,  “  to  pass  yawning  gulfs  ‘  on  the  un- 
steadfast  footing  of  a  spear  ’ ;  still  it  has  an  actual  rest¬ 
ing-place  and  tangible  support  under  it, —  it  is  not  sus¬ 
pended  on  nothing.  It  differs  from  poetry,  as  I  conceive, 
like  the  chamois  from  the  eagle:  it  climbs  to  an  almost 
equal  height,  touches  upon  a  cloud,  overlooks  a  precipice, 
is  picturesque,  sublime, —  but  all  the  while,  instead  of 
soaring  through  the  air,  it  stands  upon  a  rocky  cliff, 
clambers  up  by  abrupt  and  intricate  ways,  and  browses 
on  the  roughest  bark  or  crops  the  tender  flower.” 
What  can  be  grander  than  the  comparison  of  the  British 


QUALIFICATIONS  OF  THE  ORATOR. 


105 


constitution  to  “the  proud  keep  of  Windsor,  rising  in 
the  majesty  of  proportion,  and  girt  with  the  double  belt 
of  its  kindred  and  coeval  powers,”  etc.? — what  more 
unique  or  felicitous  than  the  Abbe  Sieyes’s  far-famed 
“  pigeon-holes,”  or  the  picture  of  the  Duke  of  Bedford 
as  “  the  Leviathan,  tumbling  about  his  unwieldy  bulk  in 
the  ocean  of  the  royal  bounty?” — or  what  bolder  and 
more  striking  than  the  application  of  Milton’s  descrip¬ 
tion  of  Sin,  to  the  half-bright,  half-terrible  phenomena 
of  the  French  Revolution,  which  was  crowned,  as  it  rose, 
with  all  the  radiance  of  intellect,  but  closed  in  massacre 
and  horror? 

Curran  was  a  great  master  of  metaphor.  The  saying 
of  Pericles  that  “  metaphors  are  often  lamps  which  light 
nothing,  and  show  only  the  nakedness  of  the  walls  against 
which  they  are  hung,”  had  no  application  to  him.  Often 
his  reasonings  were  so  couched  in  figures,  that  if  you 
took  away  the  one  you  destroyed  the  other.  Sometimes  he 
seemed  for  a  moment  to  soar  away  from  his  theme  in 
flights  of  imagination;  but,  however  high  he  flew,  he 
alwavs  came  back  to  it  with  additional  force,  and  the  im- 
ages  he  employed  not  only  quickened  attention,  but  lent 
vividness  to  the  ideas  he  wished  to  impress.  With  what 
force  and  splendor  is  the  thought  in  the  following  passage, 
in  his  defense  of  Rowan,  flashed  upon  the  mind  by  the 
aptness  of  the  illustration:  “This  (the  origin  and  object  of 
government)  is  a  kind  of  subject  which  I  feel  overawed 
when  I  approach.  There  are  certain  fundamental  princi¬ 
ples  which  nothing  but  necessity  should  expose  to  public 
examination.  They  are  pillars,  the  depth  of  whose  foun¬ 
dation  you  cannot  explore,  without  endangering  their 
strength.”  How  felicitous  is  the  image  used  by  Sheil, 


106 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


when,  alluding  to  the  spirit  of  liberty  rising  from  the 
lower  to  the  upper  orders,  he  says:  “At  length  they  have 
learned  to  participate  in  the  popular  sentiment;  the  spirit 
by  which  the  great  body  of  the  people  is  actuated  has 
risen  to  the  higher  classes,  and  the  fire  which  has  so  long 
lain  in  the  lower  region  of  society  has  burst  at  length  from 
its  frozen  summits.”  Not  inferior  to  this  is  the  fine  fig¬ 
ure  of  Plunket:  “Time  is  the  great  destroyer  of  evidence, 
but  he  is  the  great  protector  of  titles.  He  comes  with  a 
scythe  in  one  hand,  to  mow  down  the  muniments  of  our 
possessions,  while  he  holds  an  hour-glass  with  the  other, 
from  which  he  incessantly  metes  out  the  portions  of  dura¬ 
tion  which  are  to  render  the  muniments  no  longer  nee- 
essary.”  .  But  none  of  these  flowers  of  fancy,  however 
dazzling  or  daring,  surpass  in  beauty  Daniel  Webster's 
imagerv,  in  the  famous  tribute  to  the  Revolutionary 
Fathers:  “They  went  to  war  against  a  preamble.  ...  On 
this  question  of  principle,  while  actual  suffering  was  as  yet 
afar  off,  they  raised  their  flag  against  a  power,  to  which, 
for  purposes  of  foreign  conquest  and  subjugation,  Rome, 
in  the  height  of  her  glory,  is  not  to  be  compared,  ...  a 
power  which  has  dotted  over  the  surface  of  the  whole  globe 
with  her  possessions  and  military  posts;  whose  morning 
drum-beat,  following  the  sun,  and  keeping  company  with 
the  hours,  circles  the  earth  daily  with  one  continuous  and 
unbroken  strain  of  the  martial  airs  of  England." 

As  nothing  is  more  effective  in  oratory  than  imagery,  so 
nothing  is  more  dangerous  when  uncontrolled  by  good 
sense.  Many  an  orator,  in  the  very  whirlwind  of  his  elo- 
quence,  has  convulsed  his  hearers  with  laughter  by  some 
incongruous  metaphor  that  has  dissipated  every  serious 
feeling, — “  bringing  down  the  house  ”  in  a  way  as  un- 


QUALIFICATIONS  OF  THE  ORATOR. 


107 


pleasant  as  unexpected.  Curran,  in  speaking  of  Phillips’s 
oratory,  in  which  tropes  of  every  form  were  mixed  up 
profusely  and  in  inextricable  confusion,  gave  a  pregnant 
warning  to  all  speakers:  “My  dear  Tom,  it  will  never  do 
for  a  man  to  turn  painter  merely  on  the  strength  of  having 
a  pot  of  colors  by  him,  unless  he  knows  how  to  lay  them 
on."  As  the  imagination  works  best  in  solitude  and  still¬ 
ness,  it  is  doubtful  whether  the  din  and  tumult  of  the 
present  age  are  not  unfavorable  to  some  of  the  higher 
forms  of  oratory.  It  has  been  said  that  no  man  can  pro¬ 
duce  poetry  at  will;  he  must  wait  until  from  a  brooding, 
half-idle  idleness,  it  arises,  like  a  gentle  mist  from  a  lake, 
delicately  and  of  itself.  So  with  the  fine  fancies,  the  ex¬ 
quisite  imagery,  of  the  great  orator;  only  those  who  are 
withdrawn,  during  long  seasons,  into  the  brooding  imagi¬ 
nation,  are  favored  with  them;  and  where,  in  this  restless, 
hurried,  and  impatient  age,  are  such  to  be  found?  For¬ 
tunately  good  taste  does  not  demand  that  oratory  should  be 
profusely  decked  with  flowers.  Rather  should  it  be  like 
“the  grave  and  gorgeous  foliage  of  our  resplendent  Ameri¬ 
can  forest,"  full  of  richness  and  variety,  deriving  new 
beauty  from  the  chill  influences  of  a  materialistic  age,  and 
admired  less  for  its  scattered  hues  and  tints,  than  for  the 
combined  effect  and  splendor  of  the  whole. 

It  is  a  truism  to  say  that  there  can  be  no  eloquence 
without  deep  feeling.  It  is  not  enough  for  the  orator  to 
have  the  ordinary  passions  of  our  nature;  he  must  be  a 
magazine  of  sensibility,  an  electric  battery,  a  Leyden  jar 
charged  to  a  plenum.  No  matter  how  rare  or  ample  his 
intellectual  gifts;  unless  he  have  an  abnormal  emotional 
system  united  with  the  mental, —  a  rare  depth  and  fire 
of  nature,  a  capability  of  being  mightily  moved  so  as  to 


108 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


move  mightily,  an  inner  power  of  at  once  awakening  and 
controlling  emotion,  so  that  he  is  able  agitatus  cogitare , 
and,  even  in  moments  of  the  most  fiery  passion,  to  main¬ 
tain  his  mastery  over  the  inner  storm  of  being,  whose 
forces  give  fervor  and  impetus  to  his  eloquence, —  he  can 
never  dominate  his  fellow  men  by  his  oratory.  He  may 
tickle  the  ears  of  his  hearers;  he  may  charm  men  by 
fine  displays  of  imagination,  of  logic,  and  of  rhetoric; 
but  there  will  be  no  electric  appeals,  no  fulminating  bursts 
of  passion,  no  melting  pathos,  no  sudden  and  overwhelm¬ 
ing  improvisations  in  his  speeches.  The  thoughts  and 
feelings  of  a  great  writer  or  speaker  reach  our  hearts 
because  thev  issue  from  his.  The  bullets,  according  to 

1  O 

the  huntsman's  superstition,  are  sure  to  hit  the  mark,  if 
they  have  first  been  dipped  in  the  huntsman’s  blood. 
The  cold-blooded,  phlegmatic  speaker,  therefore,  whose 
words  issue  from  a  frame  that  has  no  more  sympathy 
with  them  than  has  the  case  of  a  piano  with  the  music 
of  which  it  is  the  medium,  can  have  no  business  on  the 
platform.  The  man  who  can’t  put  fire  into  his  speeches 
should  put  his  speeches  into  the  fire.  When  a  flabby- 
minded  young  preacher,  who  had  discoursed  in  old  Dr. 
Emmons’s  pulpit,  angling  for  a  compliment,  complained 
at  dinner  to  the  Doctor  that  “somehow  he  couldn’t  get 
into  his  subject," — "Do  you  know  the  reason,  sir?”  was 
the  caustic  reply, — “  it  is  because  your  subject  never  got 
into  you."  The  orator  who  would  gain  and  hold  the  ear 
of  the  people  to-day,  must  not  only  conceive  his  subject 
clearly,  and  hold  it  firmly,  but  his  whole  soul  must  be 
charged  and  vitalized  by  it;  then,  instead  of  speaking,  as 
Strafford  said,  “  from  the  teeth  outward,”  he  will  speak 
from  the  heart  and  to  the  heart;  and,  instead  of  shun- 


QUALIFICATIONS  OF  THE  ORATOR. 


109 


ning  his  lips,  great  thoughts  will  come  to  them  as  Goethe 
said  that  his  best  thoughts  came,  “  like  singing  birds,  the 
free  children  of  God,  crying,  ‘  Here  we  are  l’” 

“  Josh  Billings,”  in  describing  his  experience  with  a 
boil,  said  that  at  first  he  knew  he  had  a  boil ,  but  that  after 
two  davs  he  knew  the  boil  had  him.  It  is  not  enough 
that  the  speaker  have  a  subject,  however  momentous,  but 
the  subject  must  have  him ,  if  he  would  storm  the  hearts 
of  his  hearers.  Lord  Erskine  has  well  said  that  intellect 
alone,  however  exalted,  without  irritable  sensibility,  would 
be  only  like  an  immense  magazine  of  powder,  if  there 
were  no  such  element  as  fire  in  the  natural  world.  “  It 
is  the  heart  which  is  the  spring  and  fountain  of  all  elo¬ 
quence."  Pectus  est  quod  facit  disertum.  Cicero  tells  us, 
in  one  of  his  letters,  that  in  his  early  career  the  vehe¬ 
mence  with  which  his  intense  interest  in  his  themes  led 
him  to  express  himself,  shattered  his  constitution;  and  he 
was  obliged  to  spend  two  years  in  Greece,  exercising  in  the 
gymnasium,  before  he  could  engage  again  in  the  struggles 
of  the  forum.  Lord  Chatham  said  that  he  did  not  dare  to 
speak  with  a  state  secret  lurking  in  his  mind,  for  in  the 
Sibylline  frenzy  of  his  oratory  he  knew  not  what  he  said. 
John  Wesley  once  said  to  his  brother  Charles,  who  wished 
to  draw  him  away  from  a  mob,  in  which  some  coarse 
women  were  scolding  each  other  in  hot  billingsgate:  “Stop, 
Charles,  and  learn  how  to  preach.”  “  I  go  to  hear  Rowland 
Hill,”  said  Sheridan,  “  because  his  ideas  come  red-hot  from 
the  heart'' 

The  reason  why  so  many  preachers  are  unsuccessful  is 
because  they  do  not  feel  what  they  preach.  The  first  ele¬ 
ment  of  pulpit  power  is  a  face-to-face  knowledge  of  the 
truths  to  be  driven  home, —  a  vivid  inward  experience 


110 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


pouring  itself  out  in  living,  breathing,  palpitating  words. 
Whitefield,  in  accounting  for  the  feebleness  of  the  gener¬ 
ality  of  preachers,  attributed  it  to  their  coldness.  They 
were  not  flames,  but  icicles.  “  I  am  persuaded,”  said  he, 
“that  they  talk  of  an  unknown  and  unfelt  Christ;  many 
congregations  are  dead  because  dead  men  are  preaching 
to  them.”  Betterton,  the  actor,  said  that  the  dullness 
and  coldness  that  empty  the  meeting-house  would  empty 
the  play-house,  if  the  players  spoke  like  the  preachers; 
and  he  told  the  Lord  Bishop  of  London  that  the  reason 
why  the  clergy,  speaking  of  things  real,  affect  the  people 
so  little,  while  the  players,  speaking  of  things  unreal,  affect 
them  so  much,  is  because  “the  actors  speak  of  things  im¬ 
aginary  as  though  they  were  real;  the  preachers  too  often 
speak  of  things  real  as  though  they  were  imaginary.” 
Nothing  can  be  more  true.  To  be  eloquent,  a  man  must 
be  himself  affected.  He  must  be  not  only  sincere,  but 
deeply  in  earnest.  The  fire  which  he  would  kindle  in  other 
men’s  bosoms,  must  burn  in  his  own  heart.  The  magnetic 
force  must  saturate  his  own  spirit  before  it  will  flow  out 
upon  those  around  him.  No  hypocritical  expressions  of 
feeling,  however  passionate  in  appearance,  no  simulated 
fervors,  however  clever  the  imitation,  will  work  the  mag¬ 
ical  effects  of  reality.  The  arguments  which  do  not  come 
from  personal  conviction,  the  words  which  come  from  no 
deeper  source  than  the  lips,  will  lack  a  certain  indefinable 
but  potent  element  which  is  absolutely  essential  to  their 
highest  effectiveness.  It  is  not  enough  that  a  speaker 
utters  profound  or  weighty  truths;  he  must  show  by  all 
possible  forms  of  expression, —  by  voice,  looks,  and  gesture, 
that  they  are  truths,  living,  vital  truths,  to  him.  Even  in 
discourses  of  a  logical  character,  where  the  reasoning  ap- 


QUALIFICATIONS  OF  THE  ORATOR. 


Ill 


proaches  almost  to  mathematical  demonstration,  the  hearers 
will  not  be  impressed,  they  will  scarcely  listen  with  pa¬ 
tience,  unless  they  are  persuaded  that  the  conclusions  to 
which  the  speaker  would  force  them  are  the  deliberate, 
solemn  convictions  of  his  own  mind. 

The  orator  needs  to  remember  that  the  communication 
of  thought  and  feeling  from  mind  to  mind  is  not  a  pro¬ 
cess  which  depends  on  a  proper  selection  of  words  only. 
Language  is  only  one  of  the  media  through  which  moral 
convictions  and  impressions  are  conveyed  from  the  speaker 
to  the  hearer.  There  is  another  and  more  spiritual  con¬ 
ductor,  a  mysterious,  inexplicable  moral  contagion,  by 
means  of  which,  independently  of  the  words,  the  speaker’s 
thoughts  and  feelings  are  transmitted  to  his  auditory.  This 
quality, —  call  it  personal  magnetism,  call  it  a  divine  affla¬ 
tus,  call  it,  with  Dr.  Bushnell,  a  person’s  atmosphere ,  or  what 
you  will, —  is  the  one  all-potent  element  which,  more  than 
any  other,  distinguishes  the  true  orator.  It  is  an  intangible 
influence,  an  invisible  efflux  of  personal  power  which  radi¬ 
ates  from  the  orator’s  nature  like  heat  from  iron;  which 
attracts  and  holds  an  audience  as  a  magnet  draws  and 
holds  steel-filings;  and  no  physical  gifts,  no  mere  intel¬ 
lectual  discipline,  no  intellectual  culture,  however  exquisite 
or  elaborate,  will  enable  him  to  do  without  it.  A  speaker 
who  lacks  this  quality  may  tickle  the  ear  of  his  auditors, 
and  even  be  praised  for  his  eloquence;  but  he  will  never 
take  the  public  mind  by  storm,  or  mould  and  shape  men 
to  his  purposes.  He  may  copy  the  very  manner  of  other 
orators  whose  lips  have  been  touched  by  the  divine  fire, — 
he  may  reproduce  the  very  thoughts  and  language  which 
on  other  similar  .occasions  have  thrilled  men’s  hearts;  but 
the  words  which,  when  spoken  by  the  inspired  orator, 


112 


ORATORY  ANI)  ORATORS. 


stirred  all  souls  to  their  depths,  will  be  hollow,  powerless, 
and  vapid.  The  rod  may  be  the  rod  of  an  enchanter,  but 
it  is  not  in  the  magician’s  hand,  and  it  will  not  conjure. 
On  the  other  hand,  one  who  has  this  quality,  though  un¬ 
lettered  and  rude  in  speech,  will  often,  by  a  few  simple, 
earnest  words  welling  from  the  depths  of  the  soul,,  thrill 
and  captivate  the  hearts  which  the  most  labored  rhetoric 
has  left  untouched. 

We  are  told  that  one  day  a  man  went  to  Demosthenes, 
and  in  a  style  of  speaking  void  of  vehemence  and  ener¬ 
gy,  that  was  wholly  unsuited  to  a  strong  accusation,  asked 
him  to  be  his  advocate  against  a  person  from  whom,  he 
said,  he  had  suffered  an  assault.  “  Not  you,  indeed,” 
said  the  orator,  in  a  cold,  indifferent  tone,  “  you  have 
suffered  no  such  thing.”  “What!”  cried  the  man  pas¬ 
sionately,  raising  his  voice,  “  have  I  not  received  those 
blows?”  “Ay,  now,”  replied  Demosthenes,  “you  speak 
like  a  person  that  has  been  really  injured.”  Lord  Mans¬ 
field’s  great  lack  as  a  speaker  was  a  want  of  feeling.  He 
had  every  attribute  of  the  orator  but  genius  and  heart. 
The  intense  earnestness  of  Charles  James  Fox  is  well 
known  to  all.  When  Sheridan,  after  passing  a  night  in 
the  House  of  Commons,  was  asked  what  his  impression 
was,  he  said  that  he  had  been  chiefly  struck  with  the 
difference  of  manner  between  Fox  and  Lord  Stormont. 
The  latter  began  by  declaring  in  a  slow,  solemn,  drawl¬ 
ing,  nasal  tone,  that  “  when  he  considered  the  enormity 
and  the  unconstitutional  tendency  of  the  measures  just 
proposed,  he  was  hurried  away  in  a  torrent  of  passion 
and  a  whirlwind  of  impetuosity,”  pausing  between  every 
word  and  syllable;  while  the  first,  speaking  with  the  ra¬ 
pidity  of  lightning,  and  with  breathless  anxiety  and  impa- 


QUALIFICATIONS  OF  THE  ORATOR. 


113 


tience,  said  that  “  such  was  the  magnitude,  such  the  im¬ 
portance,  such  the  vital  interest  of  this  question,  that  he 
could  not  help  imploring,  he  could  not  help  adjuring  the 
house  to  come  to  it  with  the  utmost  coolness,  the  utmost 
deliberation.'’  There  is  a  whole  treatise  on  oratory  con¬ 
densed  in  Sheridan’s  discriminating  remark,  which  won 

*  N 

him  Fox's  friendship.  “  I  have  heard,”  says  Emerson,  “  an 
experienced  counsellor  say  that  he  never  feared  the  effect 
upon  a  jury  of  a  lawyer  who  does  not  believe  in  his 
heart  that  his  client  ought  to  have  a  verdict.  If  he  does 
not  believe  it,  his  unbelief  will  appear  to  the  jury,  de¬ 
spite  of  all  his  protestations,  and  will  become  their  unbe¬ 
lief.  This  is  that  law  whereby  a  work  of  art,  of  what¬ 
ever  kind,  sets  us  in  the  same  state  of  mind  wherein  the 
artist  was  when  he  made  it.  That  which  we  do  not  be¬ 
lieve,  we  cannot  adequately  say,  though  we  may  repeat 
the  words  never  so  often.  It  was  this  conviction  which 
Swedenborg  expressed,  when  he  described  a  group  of 
persons  in  the  spiritual  world,  endeavoring  in  vain  to 
articulate  a  proposition  which  they  did  not  believe;  but 
they  could  not,  though  they  twisted  and  folded  their  lips 
even  to  indignation.”  It  is  to  the  honor  of  Daniel  Web¬ 
ster,  that  if  a  cause  which  he  argued  was  bad,  he  saw  its 
infirmity  so  distinctly  that  his  advocacy  proved  an  injury 
rather  than  a  help  to  it.  But  if  it  was  good,  or  hung 
evenly  poised,  no  sophistry  of  counsel,  no  jugglery  of 
words,  could  hide  its  merits.  He  held  it  with  a  grip 
like  that  of  death. 

It  is  well  known  that  all  great  actors,  when  they  have 
succeeded  perfectly  in  their  art,  have  been  themselves  in¬ 
fected  by  the  passion  the  contagion  of  which  they  wished 

to  communicate  to  others.  For  the  time  thev  felt  as  if 
5* 


114 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


they  actually  were  the  characters  they  personated.  It  is 
said  that  the  tragic  enchantress,  Mrs.  Siddons,  from  the 
moment  she  stepped  into  the  carriage  which  was  to  take 
her  to  the  theatre,  till  her  return  home,  felt  entirely  as 
the  person  whom  she  was  to  represent,  and  could  not, 
without  pain,  admit  into  her  mind  any  other  feeling. 
John  Kemble,  her  brother,  tells  us  that  in  one  of  her 
grand  displays  of  tragic  passion,  her  sweeping  gait  and 
menacing  mien  so  spoke  the  goddess,  that  he  was  struck 
dumb, —  his  voice  stuck  in  his  throat.  For  some  mo¬ 
ments  he  stood  paralyzed,  and  could  not  force  the  words 
from  his  lips.  The  great  French  tragedian,  Baron,  who 
was  naturally  timid,  always  felt  as  a  hero  for  several 
days  after  he  had  performed  any  of  the  chief  characters 
in  Corneille’s  plays. 

All  the  great  productions  of  literature,  all  the  great 
musical  compositions  which  have  entranced  the  souls  of 
men,  have  owed  their  enchantment,  in  a  great  measure,  to 
the  profound  feeling  of  which  they  were  the  expression. 
When  Gray  was  asked  the  secret  of  the  inspiration  of 
“  The  Bard,”  a  poem  which  has  a  rush  and  flow  like  that 
of  Pindar’s  lyrics,  he  replied:  “Why,  I  felt  myself  to  be 
the  bard.”  On  the  other  hand,  the  reason  why  Young’s 
“Night  Thoughts”  fails  to  impress  the  reader  (especially 
if  he  knows  the  author’s  character)  is  the  lack  of  genuine 
feeling  in  the  poem.  The  deep  gloom  which  the  poet  has 
thrown  over  his  pictures  is  felt  to  be  a  trick  of  art  rather 
than  the  terrific  thunder-cloud,  “the  earthquake  and 
eclipse”  of  nature;  and  the  diminution  of  effect  is  propor¬ 
tional  to  what  the  impression  would  have  been,  had  his 
exaggerated  grief  been  real.  When  Handel  was  interro¬ 
gated  concerning  his  ideas  and  feelings  when  he  composed 


QUALIFICATIONS  OF  THE  ORATOR. 


115 


the  Hallelujah  chorus,  he  replied  in  his  broken  English: 
“  I  did  think  I  did  see  all  heaven  before  me,  and  the  great 
God  himself.”  While  engaged  in  the  composition  his  ex¬ 
citement  often  rose  to  such  a  pitch  that  he  would  burst 
into  tears.  A  friend  who  called  upon  him  as  he  was  set¬ 
ting  to  music  the  pathetic  words,  “He  was  despised  and 
rejected  of  men,”  found  him  sobbing.  “I  have  heard  it 
related,”  says  Shield,  “  that  when  Handel's  servant  used  to 
brincr  him  chocolate,  he  often  stood  in  silent  astonishment 
to  see  his  master’s  tears  mixed  with  the  ink  as  he  penned 
his  divine  notes.”  We  are  told  that  the  motion  of  his  pen, 
rapid  as  it  was,  could  not  keep  pace  with  the  rapidity  of  his 
conception.  The  mechanical  power  of  the  hand  was  not 
sufficient  for  the  current  of  ideas  which  flowed  through 
that  volcanic  brain. 

From  all  this  it  is  plain  that  the  only  way  to  speak 
well  in  the  senate,  in  the  pulpit,  or  on  the  platform,  is 
to  banish  every  thought  of  seif, —  to  think  only  of  one’s 
subject.  The  triumphs  of  true  eloquence,  touching,  grand, 
sublime,  awful,  as  they  sometimes  have  been,  are  seen 
only  when  the  orator  stands  before  you  in  the  simple 
majesty  of  truth,  and,  overpowered  by  the  weight  of  his 
convictions,  forgets  himself  and  forgets  everything  but  the 
truths  he  has  to  utter.  You  think  not  of  who  speaks,  or  how 
he  speaks,  but  of  what  is  spoken;  transported  by  his  pathos, 
your  rapt  imagination  pictures  new  visions  of  happiness; 
subdued  by  the  gushes  of  his  tenderness,  your  tears  mingle 
with  his;  determined  by  the  power  of  his  reasoning,  you 
are  prompt  to  admit,  if  not  prepared  to  yield  to,  the  force 
of  his  arguments;  entering  with  your  whole  heart  and  soul 
into  the  subject  of  his  address,  you  sympathize  with  the 
strong  emotions  which  you  see  are  in  his  bosom,  burning 


116 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


and  struggling  for  utterance;  and  soon  find  yourself  mov¬ 
ing  onward  with  him  on  the  same  impetuous  and  resistless 
current  of  feeling  and  passion.  “  It  is  amazing,”  says 
Goldsmith,  ' 4  to  what  heights  eloquence  of  this  kind  may 
reach.  This  is  that  eloquence  which  the  ancients  repre¬ 
sented  as  lightning,  bearing  down  every  opposer;  this  is 
the  power  which  has  turned  whole  assemblies  into  aston¬ 
ishment,  admiration,  and  awe;  that  is  described  by  the 
torrent,  the  flame,  and  every  other  instance  of  irresistible 
impetuosity.”  * 

While  deep  sensibility  is  necessary  to  the  orator,  it  must 
not  be  overpowering,  so  as  to  prevent  his  self-control,  and 
lead  to  an  undignified  and  theatrical  exhibition  of  himself. 

“  Si  vis  me  flere,  dolendum  est 
Primum  ipsi  tibi,” 

says  Horace;  that  is,  “if  you  would  have  me  weep”  (or, 
“shed  tears,”  or  “bewail”),  you  must  first  grieve  yourself. 
Bautain  observes  that  this  precept  is  true  only  for  those 
who  write  in  the  closet,  and  does  not  apply  to  the  orator. 
In  this  we  think  he  is  mistaken,  for  it  will  be  noticed  that 
the  poet  applies  to  the  emotion  of  the  hearer  a  stronger 
word ,  flere,  than  to  that  of  the  actor  or  speaker,  thus  inti¬ 
mating  that  the  latter  best  achieves  his  aim  by  a  milder 
exhibition  of  feeling  than  that  which  he  would  excite  in  the 
breasts  of  his  audience.  As  the  prophets  of  old  were  not 
allowed  to  lose  all  control  of  themselves,  even  in  their  most 
ecstatic  moments,  so  the  orator  should  preserve  some  self- 
restraint  even  in  his  grandest  flights.  As  a  rule,  he  should 
“weep  with  his  voice,  and  not  with  his  eyes”;  and,  how¬ 
ever  intense  his  emotions,  restrain  them  sufficiently,  at 

*  This  paragraph,  and  a  few  others  in  this  work,  have  been  transferred, 
with  some  changes,  from  ”  The  Great  Conversers,  and  other  Essays,”  by  the 
author. 


QUALIFICATIONS  OF  THE  ORATOR. 


117 


least,  for  his  ideas  and  sentiments  to  find  expression.  The 
feelings  must  not  explode  at  once,  but  escape  little  by  little, 
so  as  to  animate  the  whole  body  of  the  discourse. 

It  is  a  mistake  to  suppose  that  truth  to  nature  re¬ 
quires  that,  in  the  artistic  reproduction  of  her  material 
forms,  she  should  be  servilely  copied.  It  is  the  inner 
life,  the  hidden  spirit,  that  should  be  sought  for  in  the 
imitation  of  her  mysteries;  and  therefore  the  true  artist, 
in  every  attempt  to  express  them,  will  observe  a  certain 
reverent  modesty  and  delicate  reserve.  The  Attic  artist 
understood  this  so  well,  that  he  made  it  a  law  of  his  art. 
Even  in  portraying  the  most  violent  passions,  such  as  the 
despair  of  Niobe  and  the  agony  of  Laocoon  and  his  sons 
writhing  in  the  coil  of  the  serpents,  care  is  taken  to 
avoid  all  offensive  literalness  and  particularity.  The 
painter  who  depicted  the  sacrifice  of  Iphigenia  at  Aulis, 
lavished  all  the  resources  of  his  art  on  the  other  figures 
of  the  group,  but  hid  the  countenance  of  Agamemnon  in 
the  folds  of  his  robe,  leaving  to  the  imagination  to  con¬ 
ceive  what  art  was  powerless  fully  to  convey.  So  the 
great  orator  of  Greece  was  careful,  even  in  his  most  im¬ 
passioned  bursts,  not  to  “  overstep  the  modesty  of  nature.” 
Even  in  the  very  “torrent,  tempest,  and  whirlwind”  of 
his  passion,  he  always  manifested  that  self-mastery  and 
reserved  force,  that  temperance  of  action  and  utterance, 
which  are  essential  to  sustained  power  in  delivery. 

It  is  natural  to  suppose  that  it  is  the  thunderbolt  of 
eloquence,  rather  than  “  the  still,  small  voice,”  which 
produces  the  greatest  effects  upon  audiences;  but,  great 
as  have  been  the  recorded  effects  of  some  oratorical  ex¬ 
plosions,  it  may  be  doubted  whether,  after  all,  it  is  not 
the  subdued  expression  of  conviction  and  feeling,  when 


118 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


the  speaker,  instead  of  giving  full  vent  to  his  emotions, 
is  seen  laboring  with  a  strong  effort  to  suppress  them, 
that  is  most  powerful.  There  are  times  when  even 
silence  is  eloquent, —  more  vocal  than  utterance,  more  ex¬ 
pressive  than  gesture.  The  conduct  of  Job  and  his  three 
friends  who  sat  down  together  seven  days  and  seven 
nights,  no  one  speaking  a  word  to  them,  was  more  elo¬ 
quent  of  their  woe  than  all  their  subsequent  complain¬ 
ings.  There  are  emotions  that  mock  at  all  attempts  to 
give  them  expression.  The  Bible  refers  to  a  joy  un¬ 
speakable,  to  groans  which  cannot  be  uttered,  and  to  a 
voiceless  praise.  “  Grief  has  no  tongue  to  proclaim  its 
keenest  sorrows.  Despair  is  speechless  and  torpid.  Hor¬ 
ror  is  dumb.  The  rhetorical  pause  is,  therefore,  founded 
in  nature.”  But  when  feeling  is  not  too  intense  for  ut¬ 
terance,  the  veiled  expression  of  it  is  often  the  most  ef¬ 
fective.  Who  has  not  felt,  at  some  time,  the  power  of  a 
whisper  or  deep  low  utterance,  distinctly  giving  forth 
some  earnest  sentence?  Talma,  the  French  actor,  de¬ 
clared  that  he  had  studied  forty  years  to  be  energetic 
without  noise.  The  biographer  of  F.  W.  Robertson  tells 
us  that  it  was  because  he  was  not  mastered  by  his  ex¬ 
citement,  but,  at  the  very  point  of  being  mastered,  mas¬ 
tered  himself , —  because  he  was  apparently  cool  while  at 
a  white  heat,  so  that  he  made  his  audience  glow  with 
the  fire,  and  at  the  same  time  respect  the  self-possessive 
power  of  the  speaker, —  that  his  eloquence  was  so  con¬ 
quering. 

We  know  that  in  private  life  a  speaker  who,  feeling 
deeply  upon  some  subject,  veils  his  emotions  in  part,  and 
suffers  only  glimpses  of  them  to  be  seen,  impresses  us 
more  powerfully  than  one  who  gives  loose  to  a  pure  and 


QUALIFICATIONS  OF  THE  ORATOR. 


119 


unsuppressed  flow  of  feeling.  The  mourner  who  allows 
only  an  occasional  broken  sob  to  escape  him,  touches  our 
sympathies  more  deeply  than  if  he  were  to  break  out  into 
loud  and  passionate  wailings  and  lamentations.  It  has 
been  justly  said  that  the  crazy  duelist,  who  was  wont  to 
break  away  suddenly  from  any  pursuit  he  was  engaged 
in,  as  if  forced  by  some  demon  of  passion,  and,  pacing 
off  a  certain  distance  on  the  floor,  repeat  the  significant 
words,  “one,  two,  three,  fire!  he’s  dead!”  then  wring  his 
hands  and  turn  abruptly  to  his  former  pursuits,  gave  a 
more  touching  exhibition  of  the  agony  which  was  prey¬ 
ing  upon  his  spirit,  than  if  he  had  vented  it  in  constant 
howlings  of  remorse.*  Hence  Sliakspeare,  with  that  keen 
insight  into  human  nature  which  characterizes  all  his 
portraitures,  makes  Antony  betray  but  occasional  signs 
of  grief  for  Caesar’s  death.  Apologizing  for  any  involun¬ 
tary  escape  of  sorrow,  he  tells  the  citizens  that  he  dares 
not  trust  himself  to  indulge  in  an  adequate  expression  of 
his  grief: 

“  Bear  with  me ; 

My  heart  is  in  the  coffin  there  with  Csesar; 

And  I  must  pass  till  it  come  back  to  me. 

O  masters!  if  I  were  disposed  to  stir 
Your  hearts  and  minds  to  mutiny  and  rage, 

I  should  do  Brutus  wrong  and  Cassius  wrong, 

Who,  you  all  know,  are  honorable  men : 

I  will  not  do  them  wrong;  I  rather  choose 
To  wrong  the  dead,  to  wrong  myself  and  you, 

Than  I  will  wrong  such  honorable  men.” 

When  a  speaker  who  is  deeply  moved,  using  a  gentler 
mode  of  expression  than  the  facts  might  warrant,  appears 
thus  to  stifle  his  feelings  and  studiously  to  keep  them 
within  bounds,  the  effect  of  this  partial  concealment  is  to 
give  them  an  appearance  of  greater  intensity  and  strength. 


*  See  Day’s  "  Rhetoric,”  147. 


120 


ORATORY  ANI)  ORATORS. 


In  all  sncli  cases  of  obscure  and  indirect  expression  of 
emotion,  the  imagination  is  called  into  play;  the  jets  of 
flame  that  escape  now  and  then, —  the  suppressed  bursts  of 
feeling, —  the  partial  eruptions  of  passion, —  are  regarded 
as  but  hints  or  faint  intimations  of  the  volcano  within. 
The  studied  calmness  of  the  speaker’s  manner  and  language 
produces  a  reaction  in  the  hearer’s  mind,  and,  rushing  into 
the  opposite  extreme,  he  is  moved  more  deeply  than  by  the 
most  vehement  and  passionate  declamation.  There  is  also, 
as  it  has  been  well  observed,  the  further  advantage  in  this 
partial  disguising  of  passion,  that  the  determination  being 
left  to  the  imagination  of  the  hearer,  it  can  never  seem  to 
him  disproportionate, —  too  weak  or  too  strong. 

The  advantage  of  wit  to  the  orator  is  obvious.  Not 
only  does  it  give  a  passing  relief  to  the  tension  of  the  mind 
that  has  been  plied  with  declamation  or  reasoning,  and 
thus  prepare  it  for  renewed  attention,  but  it  is  a  powerful 
weapon  of  attack,  and  sometimes  in  reply  a  happy  wit¬ 
ticism  neutralizes  the  force  of  a  strong  and  elaborate  argu¬ 
ment.  A  volume  of  reasoning  may  be  condensed  into  a 
keen  retort,  and  the  absurdity  of  an  opponent’s  statements 
or  logic  may  be  exposed  by  an  impromptu  jest  more 
effectually  than  by  a  series  of  syllogisms.  Many  a  fallacy 
has  been  pricked  to  death  by  the  needle  of  ridicule,  which 
the  club  of  logic  has  thumped  in  vain.  Some  of  the  greatest 
orators  have  owed  much  of  their  power  and  influence  to 
this  talent.  Mr.  Francis,  the  author  of  “  Orators  of  the 
Age,”  goes  so  far  as  to  say  of  T.  Milner  Gibson,  M.P., 
that  one  witty  expression  of  his,  in  which  he  described 
the  Whig  ministry,  at  a  certain  time,  as  being  made  of 
“squeezable”  materials,  contributed  considerably  toward 
gaining  for  him  the  position  he  held  in  the  estimation 


QUALIFICATIONS  OF  THE  ORATOR. 


121 


of  the  House  of  Commons.  The  polished  irony  of  Canning, 
more  than  his  powers  of  reasoning  and  declamation,  was 
dreaded  by  his  antagonists  in  the  British  Parliament.  It 
was  the  sarcasm  of  Pitt,  “  at  once  keen  and  splendid, 
brilliant  and  concise,”  which  enabled  him,  while  yet  a 
youth,  to  stand  up  single-handed,  and  effectually  repel 
the  assaults  of  the  most  powerful  opposition  ever  arrayed 
against  a  Prime  Minister.  “  He  could  dispose  of  an  adver¬ 
sary,”  says  a  writer,  “by  a  sentence  or  a  single  phrase; 
or,  without  stepping  aside,  get  rid  of  him  in  a  parenthesis, 
and  then  go  forward  to  his  object, —  thus  increasing  the 
contemptuousness  of  the  expression  by  its  brevity  and 
indifference,  as  if  his  victim  had  been  too  insignificant  to 
give  any  trouble.” 

Good  sense  and  wit,  we  are  told,  were  the  great  weapons 
of  Sheridan’s  oratory, —  shrewdne.ss  in  detecting  the  weak 
points  of  an  adversary,  and  infinite  powers  of  raillery  in 
exposing  them.  These  qualities  made  him  a  more  formida¬ 
ble  antagonist  to  Pitt  than  others  who  had  more  learning 
and  general  ability.  A  fair  specimen  of  his  happiness  in 
retort  was  his  answer  to  Pitt  when  the  latter  compared 
Sheridan’s  constant  opposition  to  an  eternal  drag-chain, 
clogging  all  the  wheels,  retarding  the  career,  and  embar¬ 
rassing  the  movements  of  government.  Sheridan  replied 
that  a  real  drag-chain  differed  from  this  imaginary  drag- 
chain  of  the  minister,  in  one  important  essential;  it  was 
applied  only  when  the  machine  was  going  down  the  kill. 
Curran’s  wit  was  so  keen-edged,  and  his  humor  so  rich 
and  inexhaustible,  that  he  is  remembered  for  them  even 
more  than  for  the  pathos  with  which  he  melted  his  coun¬ 
trymen,  and  the  lava  of  invective  which  he  poured  out 

upon  the  authors  of  their  wrongs.  The  wit  and  humor 
6 


122 


ORATORY  ANI)  ORATORS. 


of  O’Connell  told  borne  upon  his  hearers  as  effectually  as 
his  power  of  terse,  nervous,  Demosthenic  reasoning,  his 
pathos,  and  the  matchless  skill  with  which  he  condensed 
and  pointed  his  case. 

It  was  the  wit  and  humor,  aided  by  the  good  nature  of 
Lord  North,  the  Tory  minister  of  England,  which  enabled 
him,  during  the  disastrous  defeats  of  the  American  war,  to 
bear  up  triumphantly  against  the  ceaseless  and  furious 
attacks  of  Burke,  Fox,  Pitt,  and  the  other  Whig  chiefs. 
By  a  plain,  homely  answer,  says  Lord  Brougham,  “  he 
could  blunt  the  edge  of  the  fiercest  or  most  refined  sar¬ 
casm;  with  his  pleasantry,  never  far-fetched,  or  overdone, 
or  forced,  he  could  turn  away  wrath,  and  refresh  the  jaded 
listeners;  while,  by  his  undisturbed  temper,  he  made  them 
believe  he  had  the  advantage,  and  could  turn  into  a  laugh, 
at  the  assailant’s  expense,  the  invective  which  had  been 
destined  to  crush  himself.”  Thus,  when  Alderman  Saw- 
bridge  presented  a  petition  from  Billingsgate,  and  accom¬ 
panied  it  with  much  vituperation  of  the  minister,  Lord 
North  began  his  reply:  “I  will  not  deny  that  the  worthy 
alderman  speaks  the  sentiments,  nay,  the  very  language,  of 
his  constituents,”  etc.  Again,  when  a  vehement  declaimer, 
calling  aloud  for  his  head,  turned  round  and  perceived  his 
victim  unconsciously  indulging  in  a  soft  slumber,  and,  be¬ 
coming  still  more  exasperated,  denounced  the  minister  as 
capable  of  “  sleeping  over  the  ruin  of  his  country, —  asleep  at 
a  time,” — North  only  muttered,  “I  wish  to  Heaven  I  was.” 
So  when  a  dull,  somniferous  speaker  manifested  a  similar 
indignation,  because  his  speech  produced  its  natural  effect 
upon  the  minister,  the  latter  contented  himself  with  ob¬ 
serving  how  hard  it  was  that  he  should  be  grudged  so  very 
natural  a  release  from  considerable  suffering. 


QUALIFICATIONS  OF  THE  ORATOR. 


123 


Lord  Erskine  added  the  talent  of  wit  to  his  other  foren¬ 
sic  gifts;  and  the  effect  of  his  sallies,  we  are  told,  was  not 
merely  to  relieve  the  dryness  of  legal  discussions,  but  to 
advance  his  cause.  On  one  occasion,  he  was  counsel  for 
a  man  named  Bolt,  who  had  been  assailed  by  the  opposing 
counsel  for  dishonesty:  “Gentlemen,”  replied  Erskine,  “my 
learned  friend  has  taken  unwarrantable  liberties  with  my 
client’s  good  name.  He  is  so  remarkably  of  an  opposite 
character  that  he  goes  by  the  name  of  Bolt-upright.”  This 
was  pure  invention.  Again,  in  an  action  against  a  stage¬ 
coach  proprietor  by  a  gentleman  who  had  suffered  from  an 
upset,  Erskine  began:  “Gentlemen  of  the  jury,  the  plaintiff 
is  Mr.  Beverley,  a  respectable  merchant  of  Liverpool,  and 
the  defendant  is  Mr.  Wilson,  proprietor  of  the  Swan  with 
Two  Necks  in  Lad  Lane, —  a  sign  emblematic,  I  suppose,  of 
the  number  of  necks  people  ought  to  possess  who  travel  by 
his  vehicles.”  On  another  occasion  he  was  employed  to 
defend  an  action  brought  against  the  proprietors  of  a  stage¬ 
coach  by  Polito  (the  keeper  of  a  celebrated  menagerie)  for 
the  loss  of  a  trunk.  “  Why,”  asked  Erskine,  “  did  he  not 
take  a  lesson  from  his  own  sagacious  elephant,  and  travel 
with  his  trunk  before  him?” 

All  the  world  is  familiar  with  the  sarcasms  of  Disraeli 
(Lord  Beaconsfield);  his  hits  at  Peel  as  one  who  had 
“  caught  the  Whigs  bathing,  and  run  away  with  their 
clothes,” — as  a  politician  who  had  always  “traded  on  the 
ideas  of  others,  whose  life  had  been  one  huge  appropriation 
clause,”  etc.  Wit  is  not  merely  the  handmaid  of  the 
Premier’s  genius;  it  is  the  right  arm  of  his  power.  Much 
of  its  point  is  due  to  his  by-play, —  to  the  subtle  modula¬ 
tions  of  his  voice,  his  peculiar  shrug,  and  the  air  of  icy 
coolness  and  indifference  with  which  he  utters  his  sneers  and 


124 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


sarcasms.  Nothing  can  be  more  polished  than  his  irony; 
it  is  the  steeled  hand  in  the  silken  glove.  Yet,  on  account 
of  its  personality  and  vindictiveness,  it  cannot  be  com¬ 
mended  for  imitation.  As  it  has  been  well  said,  the  adder 
lurks  under  the  rose-leaves  of  his  rhetoric;  the  golden 
arrows  are  tipped  with  poison. 

A  good  example  of  the  effect  of  a  witticism  in  neutral¬ 
izing  the  force  of  an  eloquent  appeal,  was  furnished  by 
George  Wood,  of  the  New  York  bar,  in  the  great  Old 
School  and  New  School  case,  tried  some  years  ago  at  Phila¬ 
delphia,  involving  the  possession  of  Princeton  Seminary. 
The  eloquent  William  C.  Preston,  of  South  Carolina,  ad¬ 
dressed  the  court  and  jury  for  three  days,  in  a  speech  of 
great  rhetorical  beauty,  in  behalf  of  the  New  School.  “  May 
it  please  the  court,  and  gentlemen  of  the  jury,”  said  Mr. 
Wood  in  reply,  “if  you -propose  to  follow  me,  you  will 
come  down  from  the  clouds  where  you  have  been  for  the 
last  three  days,  and  walk  on  the  earth.”  The  effect  upon 
Mr.  Preston’s  pyrotechnics  was  like  a  sudden  shower  upon 
Fourth  of  July  fire-works. 

It  has  been  said  that  no  speaker  can  have  much  influ¬ 
ence  who  merely  amuses  his  hearers, —  that  even  in  poli¬ 
tics,  the  most  effective  orators  are  not  those  who  make  the 
people  laugh.  All  this  is  true  enough;  but  if  audiences 
do  not  need  to  be  amused,  they  need  to  be  kept  awake 
and  alive;  and  for  this  nothing  is  more  effectual  than  an 
occasional  sally  of  wit.  It  is  said,  again,  that  wit  is  dan¬ 
gerous,  which  is  also  true;  and  so  is  everything  that  is 
energetic.  The  cultivation  of  science  is  dangerous;  the 
practice  of  charity  is  dangerous;  eloquence  is  particularly 
dangerous;  a  dunce  is  almost  as  dangerous  as  a  genius; 
nothing  is  absolutely  harmless  but  mediocrity.  It  is  easy 


QUALIFICATIONS  OF  THE  ORATOR. 


125 


to  abstain  from  excess  in  the  use  of  faculties  which  Nature 
has  doled  out  to  us  with  miserly  frugality.  But  that  wit 
may  give  an  added  charm  and  zest  to  eloquence,  without 
needlessly  wounding  men’s  feelings,  encouraging  levity  in 
its  possessor,  or  mocking  at  things  which  should  be  held 
in  reverence,  is  proved  by  a  long  line  of  examples,  begin¬ 
ning  long  before  him  of  whom  it  was  said,  that 

“  His  wit  in  the  combat,  as  gentle  as  bright, 

Never  carried  a  heart-stain  away  on  its  blade,” 

and  reaching  down  to  some  of  the  most  brilliant  speakers 
of  the  present  half  century. 

Some  of  the  ancient  rhetoricians  were  accustomed  to 
insist  on  virtue  as  an  essential  qualification  of  the  orator, 
on  the  ground  that  a  good  character,  which  can  be  estab¬ 
lished  in  no  better  way  than  by  deserving  it,  has  great 
weight  with  an  audience.  This  is  evidently  incorrect;  for, 
though  it  is  true  that  a  reputation  for  uprightness  adds  to 
a  speaker’s  influence,  yet  it  no  more  belongs  to  the  orator 
as  such,  than  wealth,  rank,  or  a  fine  person,  all  of  which 
have  manifestly  the  same  effect.  But,  though  not  an  indis¬ 
pensable  requisite  of  the  orator,  there  is  no  doubt  that  a 
reputation  for  integrity  gives  to  his  words  a  weight  and 
potency  which  he  cannot  afford  to  despise.  M.  Droz,  in 
his  Essai  sur  VArt  Oratoire ,  justly  affirms  that  there  is 
no  people  sunk  so  low  in  immorality  as  to  make  the  reputa¬ 
tion  of  him  who  addresses  them  wholly  indifferent  to  them. 
There  is  no  deeper  law  in  human  nature  than  that  which 
compels  men  to  withhold  their  respect  and  confidence  from 
one  who  violates  or  disregards  the  primary  principles  of 
morality.  Dr.  Franklin  was  so  strongly  convinced  of  this 
that  he  regarded  a  reputation  for  honesty  as  more  im¬ 
portant  to  a  speaker  than  even  the  “  action”  which  Demos- 


126  ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 

thenes  so  earnestly  emphasized.  In  his  Diary,  under  date 
of  July  27,  1784,  he  states  that  Lord  Fitzmaurice  having 
come  to  him  for  advice,  he  “  mentioned  the  old  story  of 
Demosthenes1  answer  to  one  who  demanded  what  was  the 
first  point  of  oratory.  Action.  The  second?  Action.  The 
third?  Action.  Which,  [  said,  had  been  generally  under¬ 
stood  to  mean  the  action  of  an  orator  with  his  hands,  etc.,- 
in  speaking;  but  that  I  thought  another  kind  of  action  of 
more  importance  to  an  orator,  who  would  persuade  people 
to  follow  his  advice,  viz.,  such  a  course  of  action  in  the 
conduct  of  life  as  would  impress  them  with  an  opinion 
of  his  integrity  as  well  as  of  his  understanding;  that,  this 
opinion  once  established,  all  the  difficulties,  delays,  and 
oppositions,  usually  caused  by  doubts  and  suspicions,  were 
prevented;  and  such  a  man,  though  a  very  imperfect 
speaker,  would  almost  carry  his  points  against  the  most 
flourishing  orator  who  had  not  the  character  of  sincerity.1' 

The  reason,  doubtless,  which  suggested  this  advice  in 
the  present  instance,  was  the  character  of  Lord  Fitzmau- 
rice’s  father,  Lord  Shelburne,  who,  though  a  man  of  high 
talent,  was  regarded  as  insincere.  There  is  no  doubt  that 
in  the  long  and  bitter  struggle  in  the  British  Parliament 
between  Pitt  and  Fox,  it  was  the  superior  integrity  of  the 
former  that  gave  him,  in  spite  of  the  icy  hardness  of  his 
character,  the  victory  over  his  antagonist.  It  was  the 
influence  which  his  blameless  purity  of  life  gave  to  his 
words,  that  made  them  so  potent  with  the  people,  and 
enabled  him  to  treat  the  taunts  and  reproaches  of  his  ene¬ 
my  with  haughty  silence,  and  that  superb  contempt  which 
was  so  marked  a  trait  of  his  character.  Fox  possessed 
many  amiable  social  qualities,  warm  affections,  a  placable 
and  forgiving  disposition,  and  a  sweet  and  winning  temper, 


QUALIFICATIONS  OF  THE  ORATOR. 


127 


which  nothing  could  sour.  But,  though  he  was  immensely 
popular  with  his  associates,  his  countrymen  generally  had  no 
confidence  in  him;  and  the  effect  of  his  burning  and  elec¬ 
trical  appeals  was  to  a  great  extent  neutralized,  because  they 
looked  upon  him  as  a  reckless  debauche,  who  spent  his  days 
in  drinking  and  gambling  with  the  Prince  of  Wales.  Even 
.those  who  admired  everything  in  his  talents  and  much  m 
his  qualities,  we  are  told,  regretted  that  his  name  never 
ceased  to  excite  in  their  minds  the  idea  of  gamesters  and 
bacchanals,  even  after  he  was  acknowledged  to  have  aban¬ 
doned  their  society.  Those  who  held  his  opinions  were 
almost  sorry  that  he  should  have  championed  them,  when 
they  saw  with  what  malicious  exultation  those  who  rejected 
them  could  recite  his  profligate  life,  in  place  of  an  argu¬ 
ment,  to  invalidate  their  force.  It  was  in  vain  that  he 
gave  his  days  to  the  serfs  in  Africa  and  to  the  helots  in 
America,  while  he  gave  his  nights  to  champagne  and 
ombre.  When  in  1782  he  was  confidently  expecting  to 
be  made  prime  minister,  Dr.  Price,  who  went  beyond  him 
in  his  devotion  to  liberal  principles,  protested  against  his 
appointment  in  a  Fast  Sermon,  which  was  circulated 
throughout  the  kingdom.  “  Can  you  imagine,”  he  asked, 
“  that  a  spendthrift  in  his  own  concerns  will  make  an 
economist  in  managing  the  concerns  of  others? — that  a 
wild  gamester  will  take  due  care  of  the  state  of  a  king¬ 
dom?” 

It  is  often  said  that  the  weight  and  pertinency  of  a 
man’s  arguments  have  no  necessary  connection  with  his 
morals;  that  the  most  illogical  reasonings  may  come  from 
the  lips  of  a  man  of  invulnerable  reputation,  and  the 
most  triumphant  proofs  of  a  proposition  be  adduced  by 
one  who  is  profligate  in  morals.  But  daily  experience 


128 


ORATORY  ANI)  ORATORS. 


shows  that  the  world  reasons  differently;  and  nothing  is 
more  certain  than  that  one  glaring  vice  in  a  public 
speaker  will  sometimes  preclude  all  confidence  in  his  rea¬ 
sonings,  and  render  futile  the  strongest  efforts  of  his  tal¬ 
ents.  “  What  care  I  what  you  say,"  exclaims  Emerson, 
“  when  what  you  do  stands  over  my  head,  and  thunders 
in  my  ear  so  loud  that  I  cannot  hear  what  you  say?” 
It  was  said  of  Sheridan  that,  had  he  but  possessed  trust¬ 
worthiness  of  character,  he  might  have  ruled  the  world; 
whereas,  living  only  to  dazzle  and  amuse,  he  had  no 
weight  or  influence  either  in  politics  or  life.  On  the 
other  hand,  Washington,  who  had  no  oratorical  gifts,  had 
such  weight  in  the  Congress  that  formed  the  Constitu¬ 
tion,  that  when  he  delivered  his  opinion  in  a  few  pithy 
sentences,  the  mere  declaimers  sank  into  insignificance. 
Baxter,  in  a  passage  quoted  by  Phillips  Brooks  tells  us 
that  in  the  English  civil  wars  “  an  abundance  of  the  ig¬ 
norant  sort  of  the  common  people  which  were  civil  did 
flock  into  the  Parliament,  and  filled  up  their  armies, 
merely  because  they  heard  men  swear  for  the  Common 
Prayer  and  bishops,  and  heard  men  pray  that  were 
against  them.  And  all  the  sober  men  that  I  was  ac¬ 
quainted  with  who  were  against  the  Parliament,  were 
wont  to  say,  ‘  The  King  hath  the  better  cause,  but  the 
Parliament  the  better  men.’”  “I  suppose,”  adds  Mr. 
Brooks,  “  that  no  cause  could  be  so  good  that,  sustained 
by  bad  men,  and  opposed  to  any  error  whose  champions 
were  men  of  spotless  lives,  it  would  not  fall.”  Had  Lu¬ 
ther’s  words  been  contradicted  by  his  life,  they  never 
would  have  rung  through  Germany  like  a  trumpet,  and 
become,  as  Richter  said  of  them,  “  half  battles.”* 

*  See.  on  this  subject,  u  Words;  their  Use  and  Abuse,”  by  the  author. 


QUALIFICATIONS  OF  THE  ORATOR. 


129 


In  thus  enumerating  the  qualifications  of  the  orator, 
we  would  not  be  understood  as  implying  that  the  essen¬ 
tial  secret  of  his  art  can  be  learned  from  any  such  de¬ 
scription.  It  is  in  vain  to  attempt  to  explain  his  mag¬ 
netism,  the  mighty  effects  which  he  works,  by  a  catalogue 
raisonnee  of  his  qualities.  Eloquence,  like  a  genius  for 
invention,  for  music  or  painting,  is  primarily  a  gift  of 
God,  and  we  shall  never  be  able  to  grasp  or  describe  it 
by  seizing  upon  its  forms.  Like  that  of  beauty,  music, 
or  a  delicious  odor,  its  charm  is  subtle  and  impalpable, 
and  baffles  all  our  efforts  to  explain  it  in  words.  There 
are  persons  whose  looks  and  manner  charm  us  at  first 
sight;  we  are  drawn  to  them  by  an  irresistible  fascina¬ 
tion;  there  is  a  spell  upon  us  the  moment  we  see  them; 
as  was  said  by  Saint-Simon  of  Fenelon,  it  requires  an 
effort  to  cease  to  look  at  them.  But  in  vain  would  we 
try  to  analyze  the  causes  of  our  impressions;  we  only 
know  that  there  are  certain  faces  with  “  a  witching 
smile  and  pawky  een,1’  that  find  us  all  more  or  less 
vulnerable,  though  their  shafts  are  shot,  so  to  speak, 
from  an  ambush.  Who  can  explain  the  hidden  life  of 
the  rose?  The  botanist  can  take  the  flower  to  pieces, 
and  show  you  the  stamens,  calyx,  and  corolla;  but  he 
cannot  put  his  finger  on  the  mysterious  thing  which 
holds  them  together,  and  makes  the  living  flower.  The 
life  escapes  his  grasp.*  Who,  again,  can  explain  the 

*  Beauty,  says  Goethe,  “  is  inexplicable ;  it  appears  to  us  as  a  dream,  when 
we  contemplate  the  works  of  great  artists ;  it  is  a  hovering,  floating,  and  glit¬ 
tering  shadow,  whose  outline  eludes  the  grasp  of  definition.  Mendelssohn  and 
others  tried  to  catch  beauty  as  a  butterfly,  and  pin  it  down  for  inspection. 
They  have  succeeded  in  the  same  way  as  they  are  likely  to  succeed  with  the 
butterfly.  The  poor  animal  trembles  and  struggles,  and  its  brightest  colors  are 
gone;  or,  if  you  catch  it  without  spoiling  the  colors,  you  have  at  best  a  stiff  and 
awkward  corpse.  But  a  corpse  is  not  an  entire  animal ;  it  wants  that  which  is 
essential  in  all  things,  namely,  life,— spirit,  which  sheds  beauty  on  everything.” 


130 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


mystery  of  the  musician’s  art?  Why  is  it  that  the  sim¬ 
plest  strains  sometimes  so  thrill  and  melt  the  heart? 
How  is  it  that  an  old  song,  which  we  have  heard  a  thou¬ 
sand  times  before,  can,  in  certain  moods,  so  joyfully  or 
sadly  touch  our  souls.  We  cannot  “pluck  out  the 
heart”  of  this  mystery.  We  simply  know  that  there 
is  a  divine  power,  an  inexplicable  sorcery,  lodged  in  this 
art  of  arts;  that  by  its  magical  airs  and  melodies  it  can 
open  the  floodgates  of  the  soul,  and  wet  the  eye  with  un¬ 
bidden  tears,  or  fill  the  heart  with  gladness,  till  joy,  like 
madness,  pours  out  its  sparkles  from  the  clear  depths  of 
the  eyes. 

So  with  eloquence.  Its  subtle  spell  is  alike  inexplicable. 
To  suppose  that  it  is  a  trick  of  language,  or  look,  or  ges¬ 
ture,  which  one  man  can  learn  from  another,  is  an  illusion. 
It  acts  by  virtue  of  some  hidden  principle,  some  electric 
or  magnetic  quality,  which  is  seen  in  its  effects ,  but  which 
utterly  eludes  analysis.  It  is  not  an  effect,  necessarily,  of 
scholarship  and  polished  periods.  It  does  not  depend  upon 
brilliant  rhetoric,  a  vivid  imagination,  or  upon  winning 
looks,  or  a  commanding  physique.  Nor  does  it  consist  of 
“something  greater  and  higher  than  all  these, —  action, 
noble,  sublime,  godlike  action.”  Who  that  has  ever  lis¬ 
tened  to  a  mighty  orator  has  not  felt  how  inadequate  were 
all  attempts  to  describe  him?  In  vain  does  one  expatiate 
on  the  beauty  or  nobleness  of  his  person,  his  regal  carriage, 
his  speaking  eye,  his  clarion-like  voice,  the  admirable  ar¬ 
rangement  of  his  arguments,  his  wit,  his  pathos,  the  fluency 
and  magnificence  of  his  language,  his  exquisite  observance 
of  the  temper  of  his  audience.  All  these  qualifications  he 
may  possess,  and  we  may  be  sure  that  all  these  cannot  co¬ 
exist  without  constituting  a  great  orator;  but  when  we 


QUALIFICATIONS  OF  THE  ORATOR. 


131 


have  said  all,  we  feel  that  there  is  something  more, —  some¬ 
thing  indefinable,  and  more  vital  than  all  the  rest, —  which 
we  have  left  untold.  It  is,  in  short,  an  inventory,  rather 
than  a  description;  “the  play  of  Hamlet  with  the  part  of 
Hamlet  left  out.”  We  have  failed  as  inevitably  and  sig¬ 
nally  as  if  we  should  attempt  to  portray  the  matchless 
beauty  of  the  Belvidere  Apollo  by  an  enumeration  of  its 
visible  qualities.  We  might  extol  its  exquisite  proportions, 
expressing  strength  and  swiftness,  the  anatomical  truth  of 
its  attitude,  the  life-like  beauty  of  its  features,  and  the  in¬ 
imitable  delicacy  and  fineness  of  its  workmanship;  and  the 
catalogue  of  its  excellences,  so  far  as  it  went,  would  be 
faultless;  but  who  that  had  ever  seen  the  divine  original 
would  say  that  we  had  conveyed  even  a  proximately  distinct 
impression  of  the  bounding  grace,  the  matchless  symmetry, 
and  above  all,  the  air  of  celestial  dignity,  which  electrifies 
every  spectator  of  “  the  statue  that  enchants  the  world,” 
—  a  statue  whose  constituent  qualities  can  no  more  be  de¬ 
scribed  than  they  can  be  misunderstood  by  any  beholder 
with  eyes  and  intelligence? 

Nor  can  even  the  orator  himself  explain  the  secret  of 
his  art.  In  the  work  of  all  the  great  masters  there  are 
certain  elements  that  are  a  mystery  to  themselves.  In  the 
fire  of  creation  they  instinctively  infuse  into  their  produc¬ 
tions  certain  qualities  of  which  they  would  be  utterly  puz¬ 
zled  to  give  an  account.  It  is  so  in  music,  in  sculpture,  in 
painting,  and  even  in  the  military  art.  When  Napoleon 
was  asked  by  a  flatterer  of  his  generalship,  how  he  won  his 
victories,  he  replied:  “Mon  JDieu!  c'est  ma  nature ;  je  suis 
fait  comme  $a  (Bless  me!  it  is  natural  to  me;  I  was  made 
so”).  Genius,  says  a  French  writer,  has  its  unconscious 
acts,  like  beauty,  like  infancy.  When  an  infant  charms 


132 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


you  by  its  artless  smile,  it  does  not  know  that  its  smile 
is  artless.  The  effect  which  the  orator  achieves  is  due  not 
merely  to  his  separate  gifts,  but  to  their  mystic  and  inex¬ 
plicable  union,  and  to  a  certain  magic  art  that  wrnrks  like 
an  instinct, —  an  art  by  which,  like  the  painter  in  his 
moments  of  ecstasy,  the  poet  in  his  moments  of  frenzy,  he 
flings  over  his  work  a  light  “  that  never  was  by  sea  or 
land,”  and  “leavens  it  all  with  the  mystical  spirit  of 
beauty,  and  pathos,  and  power, —  like  the  indefinable  light 
which  hovers  in  the  eyes  of  the  Madonna  of  Raphael,  like 
the  immeasurable  power  which  seems  to  threaten  in  the 
frescoes  of  Angelo.” 

The  difficulty  of  discovering  the  secret  of  eloquence 
will  appear  still  farther,  if  we  consider  the  almost  infi¬ 
nite  varieties  of  oratorical  excellence,  t>he  innumerable 
ways  in  which  the  enthusiasm  of  crowds  is  kindled.  The 
eloquence  of  some  speakers,  from  its  first  small  begin¬ 
ning  to  the  broad,  grand  peroration,  reminds  you  of  a 
calm  and  beautiful  river,  that  winds  its  course  unruffled 
by  the  wind, —  now  pausing  on  its  pebbly  bed,  now  shoot¬ 
ing  arrow-like  along,  now  widening  and  swelling  into 
deep,  lake-like  pools,  now  contracting  its  deep  channel  in 
some  narrow  gorge,  till  at  last  it  pours  its  full  volume 
into  the  sea.  The  eloquence  of  another  is  like  a  mount¬ 
ain  torrent,  which,  sweeping  all  obstacles  before  it,  rolls 
on  with  an  impetuous,  ever  swelling  flood,  and  a  loud 
and  increasing  roar,  filling  the  valleys  with  its  thunders, 
and  overflowing  its  embankments  far  and  wide,  till  it 
spends  its  fury  on  the  plain  or  in  some  vast  lake.  One 
speaker  appeals  to  the  reason  rather  than  to  the  pas¬ 
sions,  and  seeks  to  convince  rather  than  to  persuade;  an¬ 
other  abounds  in  startling  apostrophes  and  soul-stirring 


QUALIFICATIONS  OF  THE  ORATOR. 


133 


appeals,  which  the  former,  in  the  proud  consciousness  of 
his  argumentative  power,  seems  wholly  to  disdain.  There 
are  profound  reasoners,  who,  by  the  sheer  supremacy  of 
intellect,  by  force  of  will  and  their  own  absolute  convic¬ 
tion,  implant  within  us  vital  sentiments  which  we  cannot 
dislodge,  and  which  send  us  away  thinking,  feeling,  resolv¬ 
ing;  and,  again,  there  are  itinerant  preachers,  spiritual 
tinkers,  and  reformed  inebriates,  who,  by  the  mere  force 
of  personal  enthusiasm,  of  vehement  physical  passion,  raise 
us  to  dizzy  heights  of  excitement  and  draw  tears  from 
eyes  unused  to  weep.  There  are  speakers  who  cultivate 
all  the  seductive  arts  of  address,  and  who  try  to  propiti¬ 
ate  their  hearers  by  studied  exordiums;  there  are  others 
who  accomplish  equally  great,  or  even  greater,  results,  by 
standing  bolt-upright,  disdaining  all  action,  making  a 
rush  at  once  at  the  very  pith  and  marrow  of  the  ques¬ 
tion,  and  firing  off  their  sentences  in  short,  quick  volleys, 
like  those  of  a  steam-gun. 

The  great  orator  of  Greece  spent  so  many  weeks  and 
months  upon  his  speeches  that  his  enemies  said  they  smelt 
of  the  lamp;  Webster  prepared  his  immortal  reply  to 
Hayne  in  a  single  night.  Lord  Chatham,  to  perfect  his 
use  of  language,  read  Bailey’s  dictionary  twice  over,  and 
articulated  before  a  glass ;  Patrick  Henry  affected  a  greater 
slovenliness  of  style  and  rusticity  of  pronunciation  than 
was  natural  to  him,  and  declared  that  “  naiteral  parts  is 
better  than  all  the  laming  upon  y earth”  The  former, 
an  inveterate  actor,  and  fastidious  in  his  toilette,  care¬ 
fully  adjusted  his  dress  before  speaking;  the  other 
slouched  into  the  legislature  with  his  greasy  leather- 
breeches  and  shooting-jacket.  Henry  Clay,  with  the  most 
commonplace  thoughts,  often  charmed  his  hearers  by  the 


134 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


musical  tones  of  his  voice;  Brougham  electrified  his  au¬ 
dience  by  notes  as  harsh  and  hoarse  as  the  scream  of  the 
eagle.  Sheil  produced  his  effects  by  rapid,  electric  sen¬ 
tences,  like  bolts  from  a  thunder-cloud;  still  greater  ef¬ 
fects  were  produced  by  the  “  drawling,  but  fiery  ”  sen¬ 
tences  of  Grattan.  William  Pitt,  with  a  stiff  figure  and 
a  solemn  posture,  like  that  of  a  passionless  automaton, 
swayed  the  House  of  Commons  with  stately,  flowing,  sono¬ 
rous  sentences,  in  which  “  a  ccfuple  of  powdered  lacqueys 
of  adjectives  waited  on  every  substantive  ” ;  Fox,  until  he 
got  warmed  with  his  subject,  hesitated  and  stammered, — 
often  kept  on  for  a  long  time  in  a  tame  and  common¬ 
place  strain, —  but  gaining  impetus  and  inspiration  as  he 
proceeded,  swept  the  house,  at  last,  with  a  hurricane  of 
eloquence.  Hamilton  declared  that  the  oratory  of  the 
former  appeared  to  him  “languid  eloquence”;  that  of 
the  latter,  “  spirited  vulgarity.”  The  greatest  bursts 
of  oratory  have  generally  been  improvised,  and  their 
effects  enhanced  by  apt  and  significant  gesture;  but  Dr. 
Chalmers,  one  of  the  most  powerful  of  pulpit  orators, 
spoke  from  manuscript,  and  hardly  moved  a  finger.  Mira- 
beau,  the  most  stormy,  electric,  and  resistless  of  French 
orators,  pursued  a  middle  course;  he  took:  the  brief  of  an 
oration,  as  he  mounted  the  tribune,  from  the  hand  of  a 
friend;  and  many  of  his  best  passages,  short,  rapid,  and 
electrical,  flashed  out  from  between  the  trains  of  argu¬ 
ments  laboriously  prepared  for  him,  like  lightning  through 
the  clouds.  Such,  doubtless,  was  the  case  with  his  com¬ 
parison  of  the  Gracchi,  his  celebrated  allusion  to  the 
Tarpeian  Rock,  and  his  apostrophe  to  Sieyes.  Burke,  be¬ 
fore  the  spectre  of  the  French  Revolution  shot  across  his 
path,  was  listened  to  as  a. seer  by  the  House  of  Com- 


QUALIFICATIONS  OF  THE  ORATOR. 


135 


mons;  but,  after  that  event,  his  Cassandra-like  croakings 
bored  his  hearers,  and  his  rising  to  speak  was  a  signal 
for  a  stampede  from  the  benches. 

Some  years  ago  “The  Editor’s  Chair”  of  “Harper's 
Magazine”  called  attention  to  the  contrast  between  the 
oratory  of  Edward  Everett  and  that  of  John  B.  Gough. 
Perhaps  no  speaker  in  America  has  been  listened  to  with 
more  delight  by  thousands  and  tens  of  thousands  that  have 
crowded  to  hear  him  than  Gough.  Year  after  year  he 
repeats  the  same  discourses,  with  slight  changes,  from  the 
same  platforms;  and  year  after  year  men  laugh  at  the 
same  “gape-seed”  stories,  weep  at  the  same  tales  of  pathos, 
and  are  thrilled  by  the  same  vivid  appeals  to  their  sensi¬ 
bilities.  Yet  Gough  has  neither  literary  genius  nor  cul¬ 
ture,  neither  personal  magnetism  nor  a  musical  voice, — 
indeed,  hardly  any  of  the  gifts  which  are  deemed  essential 
to  the  popular  orator.  He  has  justly  been  called  “an 
oratorical  actor, —  a  kind  of  Fox-GaTrick.”  On  the  other 
hand,  Edward  Everett,  who  forty  years  ago  was  the  prince 
of  rhetoricians,  if  not  the  prince  of  orators  in  this  coun¬ 
try, —  to  whose  rhythmical  and  polished  periods  the  schol¬ 
arly  audiences  of  New  England  listened  with  never-ending 
delight, —  was  a  man  of  Attic  taste  and  refinement,  the 
highest  product  of  New  England  culture.  Cold,  passion¬ 
less,  undramatic,  trusting  to  old,  traditional,  time-honored 
forms  in  action  and  delivery,  having  no  deep  convictions, 
and  consequently  abstaining  altogether  from  what  Aris¬ 
totle  calls  the  agonistical  or  “wrestling”  style  of  oratory, 
he  delivered  his  carefully  elaborated  periods  in  tones 
modulated  with  equal  care,  and  with  such  a  uniform  per¬ 
fection  of  manner  that  the  whole  seemed  like  the  effect 
of  mechanism.  Yet  he,  too,  drew  admiring  crowds,  al- 


136 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


though  a  more  marked  contrast  to  Gough  could  hardly 
be  named.* 

One  of  the  greatest  of  modern  orators,  Lord  Brougham, 
lays  down  as  a  test  of  a  great  mind  in  the  senate,  the  power 
of  making  a  vigorous  reply  to  a  powerful  attack.  The 
observation  appears  a  just  one,  for  as  “  iron  sharpeneth 
iron,”  the  clash  of  intellect,  like  the  collision  of  flint  and 
steel,  throws  out  a  sparkling  stream.  Among  the  distin¬ 
guished  orators  of  the  United  States,  there  have  been  many 
striking  examples  of  this  power,  the  most  notable,  perhaps, 
being  Webster’s  reply  to  Hayne.  Naturally,  Mr.  Webster 
was  of  a  heavy,  sluggish  temperament,  and  required  to  be 
assaulted  by  a  formidable  antagonist, —  to  be  lashed,  and 
goaded,  and  driven  to  the  wall,  by  another  giant  like  him¬ 
self, —  to  set  his  massive  energies  in  motion.  For  the 
ordinary  parliamentary  duello, —  that  species  of  intel¬ 
lectual  gladiatorship  which  requires  that  a  man  should 
have  a  little  of  the  savage  in  him,  to  be  very  successful  in 
it, —  he  had  little  taste.  But  give  him  a  great  occasion, 

and  an  adversary  worth  grappling  with, —  a  foeman  worthy 

/ 

of  his  steel, —  and  he  rises  with  the  exigences  of  the  occa¬ 
sion,  and  displays  the  giant  strength  of  his  intellect,  the 
fiery  vehemence  of  his  sensibility,  his  brilliant  imagina¬ 
tion,  and  his  resistless  might  of  will,  to  terrible  advantage. 
When  thus  roused  and  stimulated,  his  pent-up  stores  of 
passion  burst  forth  with  volcanic  force;  he  presses  into 
his  service  all  the  weapons  of  oratory;  the  toughest  sophis¬ 
tries  of  his  adversaries  are  rent  asunder  like  cobwebs; 
denunciation  and  sarcasm  are  met  with  sarcasm  and  de¬ 
nunciation  still  more  crushing  and  incurably  wounding; 

*  Not  having  the  volume  of  “Harper”  before  us,  we  give  the  comparison 
as  nearly  as  we  can  recollect  it,  with,  of  course,  some  changes  in  the  language. 


QUALIFICATIONS  OF  THE  ORATOR. 


137 


and  his  style  has,  at  times,  a  Miltonic  grandeur  and  roll 
which  are  rarely  surpassed  for  majestic  eloquence. 

Among  the  orators  of  Great  Britain  Lord  Brougham 
himself  was  one  of  the  most  remarkable  illustrations  of 
his  own  remark.  When  his  faculties  were  stimulated  by 
assault,  no  man  rose  more  readily  with  the  greatness  of 
the  occasion,  or  poured  out  a  more  fearful  torrent  of 
scathing  invective,  with  all  the  peculiarities  of  look,  tone, 
and  gesture,  which  drive  a  pointed  observation  home.  His 
enunciation  was  naturally  harsh,  yet  it  was  so  modulated, 
we  are  told,  that  the  hearer  was  carried  through  a  series 
of  involved  sentences  without  perplexity,  until,  at  the 
close,  the  orator  literally  pierced  the  intellect  by  the  con¬ 
cluding  phrase,  which  was  the  keynote  to  the  whole.  In 
days  gone  by,  Brougham  and  Canning  “  used  to  watch  each 
other  across  the  table,  eagerly  waiting  for  the  advantage 
of  reply;  the  graceful  and  accomplished  orator  being  aware 
that  his  rival,  by  a  single  intonation,  or  even  a  pointing 
of  a  finger,  could  overwhelm  with  ridicule  the  substance 
of  a  well-prepared  speech.”  One  of  the  most  effective 
British  speakers  in  reply  at  a  later  day,  wras  Sir  Robert 
Peel.  His  tenacious  memory  preserved  every  point  of  his 
adversary’s  argument,  and  his  practical  intellect  enabled 
him  to  hit  an  objection  “between  wind  and  water.”  Lord 
Macaulay,  on  the  other  hand,  though  he  always  chained 
the  attention  of  the  house  by  his  set  efforts,  could  not 
speak  in  reply. 

That  climate  and  race  have  not  a  little  to  do  with  elo¬ 
quence,  is  an  obvious  fact.  The  style  called  Asiatic,  for 
example,  is  marked,  like  all  oriental  compositions,  by  an 
excess  of  imagination;  the  wings  are  disproportioned  to 

the  body.  Cicero,  in  speaking  of  it,  says:  “No  sooner 
G* 


138 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


had  eloquence  ventured  to  sail  from  the  Piraeus,  than  she 
traversed  all  the  isles  and  visited  every  part  of  Asia,  till  at 
last,  infected  with  their  manners,  she  lost  all  the  purity 
and  healthy  complexion  of  the  Attic  style,  and,  indeed, 
almost  forgot  her  native  language/’  It  is  a  curious  fact 
noted  by  a  late  writer,  that  the  climatic  conditions  of 
extreme  heat  and  cold  have  a  similar  effect  on  the  im¬ 
aginative  faculty,  causing  it  to  overshadow  all  the  others, 
as  may  be  seen  in  the  poetry  of  Arabia  and  Hindostan 
and  the  Edda  of  Scandinavia.  The  Irish  and  the  French 
are  born  orators  ;  and  our  own  Southern  people  have  a 
great  advantage  over  the  New-Englanders,  who,  as  Emer¬ 
son  says,  live  in  a  climate  so  cold  that  they  scarcely  dare 
to  open  their  mouths  wide.  Yet  the  rule  has  many  ex¬ 
ceptions  ;  and  Nature  is  perpetually  startling  us  with  her 
freaks  and  anomalies.  Who  that  ever  listened  to  Rufus 
Choate,  so  oriental  both  in  his  looks  and  style  of  speech, 
would  have  fancied,  before  being  told,  that  he  was  a 
product  of  the  same  rocky  soil  as  Jeremiah  Mason  and 
Daniel  Webster  ?  Or  who  would  have  dreamed  of  find¬ 
ing  in  a  child  of  Maine  a  genius  as  fiery  and  fervid,  an 
imagination  as  tropical  in  its  fruitfulness  and  splendor, 
as  any  that  blooms  in  oriental  climes  ?  Yet  such  were 
the  qualities  of  Sargent  S.  Prentiss,  whom,  reasoning  a 
; priori ,  one  would  have  expected  to  possess  an  understand¬ 
ing  as  solid  as  the  granite  of  her  hills,  and  a  temperament 
as  cold  as  her  climate.  So,  it  has  been  happily  said,  “  the 
flora  of  the  South  is  more  gorgeous  and  variegated  than 
that  of  less  favored  climes  ;  but  occasionally  there  springs 
up  in  the  cold  North  a  flower  of  as  delicate  a  perfume  as 
any  within  the  tropics.  The  heavens  in  the  equatorial 
regions  are  bright  with  golden  radiance,  and  the  meteors 


QUALIFICATIONS  OF  THE  ORATOR. 


139 


shoot  with  greater  effulgence  through  the  air;  but  even  the 
snow-clad  hills  of  the  North  flash,  from  time  to  time,  with 
the  glories  of  the  Aurora  Borealis.  Under  the  line  are 
found  more  numerous  volcanoes,  constantly  throwing  up 
their  ashes  and  their  flames;  but  none  of  them  excel  in 
grandeur  the  Northern  Hecla,  from  whose  deep  caverns 
rolls  the  melted  lava  down  its  ice-bound  sides." 

If  the  gifts  of  the  impassioned  son  of  Maine  belied  his 
birth-place,  not  less,  in  an  opposite  manner,  did  those  of 
Carolina’s  child,  John  C.  Calhoun.  Born  in  a  tropical  re¬ 
gion,  where  a  southern  sun  is  apt  to  ripen  human  passion 
into  the  rank  luxuriance  of  tropical  vegetation,  he  was  as 
severely  logical,  as  rigidly  intellectual,  as  if  he  had  been 
reared  in  Nova  Zembla,  or  any  other  region  above  the  line 
of  perpetual  snow.  Dwelling  amid  the  luxuriant  life,  the 
magnificence  and  pomp,  the  deep- toned  harmonies,  of  the 
Southern  zones,  he  was  as  blind  to  their  beauties,  as  deaf  to 
their  melodies,  as  if  he  had  really  been  “the  cast-iron 
man  ”  that  he  was  called,  and  had  sprung  from  the  bowels 
of  a  granite  New  Hampshire  mountain. 


CHAPTER  V. 


THE  ORATOR  S  TRIALS 


F  the  orator  has  his  triumphs,  which  are  as  dazzling 


-®-  as  any  that  are  the  reward  of  genius  and  toil,  he  has 
also,  by  that  inexorable  law  of  compensation  which  so 
largely  equalizes  human  conditions,  trials  which  are  pro¬ 
portional  to  his  successes.  The  hearer  who  “hangs  both 
his  greedy  ears  upon  his  lips,”  little  dreams  of  the  toils 
and  mortifications  the  speaker  has  undergone.  The  aspir¬ 
ants  to  oratorical  distinction,  who  envy  him  his  fame  and 
influence,  have  but  a  faint  conception  of  the  laborious  days 
and  sleepless  nights  which  his  successes  have  cost  him, —  of 
the  distracting  cares  and  interruptions,  the  nervous  fears 
of  failure,  or  of  falling  below  himself  and  below  public 
expectation,  the  treacheries  of  memory,  the  exhaustion 
and  collapse  of  feeling,  the  self-dissatisfaction  and  self¬ 
disgust,  with  which  the  practice  of  his  art  has  been  at¬ 
tended.  Armies  are  not  always  cheering  on  the  heights 
which  they  have  won.  “  The  statue  does  not  come  to  its 
white  limbs  at  once.  It  is  the  bronze  wrestler,  not  the 
flesh  and  blood  one,  that  stands  for  ever  over  a  fallen  ad¬ 
versary  with  the  pride  of  victory  on  his  face.”  It  is  a  rare 
intellectual  gratification  to  listen  to  a  finished  orator;  and 
so  it  is  delightful  to  gaze  upon  tapestry,  and  we  are  daz¬ 
zled  by  the  splendor  of  the  colors,  and  the  cunning  inter¬ 
texture  of  its  purple  and  gold;  but  how  many  of  those  who 


140 


THE  ORATOR’S  TRIALS. 


141 


are  captivated  by  its  beauty  turn  the  arras  to  see  the 
jagged  ends  of  thread,  the  shreds  and  rags  of  worsted,  and 
the  unsightly  patchwork,  of  the  reverse  side  of  the  picture, 
or  dream  of  the  toil  it  represents?  Yet  it  is  on  this  side 
that  the  artificer  sits  and  works;  it  is  at  this  picture  that 
he  gazes,  until  oftentimes  the  splendor  he  has  wrought 
becomes  distasteful,  and  he  would  fain  abandon  his  call¬ 
ing  for  one  that  exacts  less  toil,  even  though  it  wins  less 
admiration  from  the  spectator. 

There  is  hardly  any  public  speaker  of  great  celebrity 
who  will  not  confess  that  he  feels  more  or  less  tremor 
when  he  rises  to  speak,  on  a  great  occasion, —  though  it 
be  for  the  hundredth  time.  To  stand  up  before  a  crowded 
and  perhaps  imposing  assembly,  without  a  scrap  of  paper, 
without  a  chair,  perhaps,  to  lean  upon,  and  trusting  to 
the  fertility  and  readiness  of  your  brain,  to  attempt  a 
speech  amid  the  profoundest  silence,  while  you  are  the 
focus  of  a  thousand  eyes,  and  feel,  as  they  scan  or  scruti¬ 
nize  you,  that  you  are  under  the  necessity  of  winning  and 
holding  the  attention  of  all  those  listeners  for  an  hour,  or 
hours, —  is  a  trying  task,  and  demands  hardly  less  nerve 
and  self-possession  than  any  other  critical  situation  in  life. 
Those  who  have  often  assumed  such  a  task,  whether  vol¬ 
untarily  or  involuntarily,  will  confess  that  there  are  oc¬ 
casions  when  it  is  indescribably  painful,  and  that  they  have 

no  remission  from  either  physical  or  mental  suffering  until 

/ 

it  is  performed. 

But  what  is  the  cause  of  this  anxiety  and  misery? 
Why  should  it  be  so  much  more  difficult  to  address  a  hun¬ 
dred  men  than  to  address  one?  Why  should  a  man  who 
never  hesitates  or  stammers  in  pouring  out  his  thoughts 
to  a  friend  or  a  circle  of  friends,  be  emban'assed  or  struck 


142 


ORATORY  A XI)  ORATORS. 


dumb  if  he  attempts  to  say  the  same  things,  however  suit¬ 
able,  to  fifty  persons  ?  Why  is  it  that  though  he  is  awed 
by  the  presence  of  no  one  of  them,  and  even  feels  himself 
to  be  intellectually  superior  to  every  individual  be  faces, 
yet  collectively  they  inspire  him  with  awe,  if  not  with 
terror  ?  How  comes  it  that  though  he  has  a  steady  flow 
of  ideas  and  words  when  he  sits  in  a  chair,  he  cannot 
think  on  his  legs;  that  even  a  half-reclining  posture  does 
not  check  improvisation,  but  perpendicularity  paralyzes 
him  ?  Whatever  may  be  the  explanation  of  the  phenome¬ 
non,  we  are  all  familiar  with  it.  If  we  have  not  had  per¬ 
sonal  experience  of  that  Belshazzarish  knocking  of  the 
knees,  and  that  cleaving  of  the  tongue  to  the  roof  of  the 
mouth,  which  sometimes  afflicts  the  public  speaker  in  the 
most  unexpected  and  mysterious  manner,  we  have  had 
occasion,  probably,  to  witness  painful  instances  of  it  in 
the  experiences  of  others.  There  is  hardly  a  more  distress¬ 
ing  position  in  which  a  human  being  can  be  placed,  than 
that  of  the  newly-fledged  orator,  who  looks  upon  “  a  sea 
of  upturned  faces  ”  for  the  first  time,  and,  in  a  fright, 
forgets  what  he  had  to  say.  He  may  have  repeated  his 
speech  forty  times  in  his  study,  in  the  woods  to  the  trees, 
or  in  his  garden  to  the  cabbages,  without  hesitating  or 
omitting  a  word;  yet  the  moment  he  mounts  the  rostrum 
and  faces  an  audience,  his  ■  intense  consciousness  of  the 
human  presence,  of  its  reality,  and  of  the  impossibility  of 
escaping  it,  petrifies  the  mind,  paralyzes  all  his  powers. 

Even  the  most  distinguished  orators  tell  us  that  their 
first  attempts  at  public  speaking  were  fiery  ordeals  ;  and 
not  a  few  broke  down  opprobriously,  “  throttling  their 
practiced  accents  in  their  fears,”  and  losing  the  thread 
of  their  thoughts  in  excess  of  helpless  consternation. 


THE  ORATOR’S  TRIALS 


143 


The  brightest  wits  have  been  disgraced  in  this  way  as  well 
as  the  dullest.  The  likelihood  of  such  a  result  is,  indeed, 
just  in  proportion  to  the  speaker’s  oratorical  gifts.  Men 
of  the  finest  genius  and  the  most  thorough  accomplishment 
in  other  respects,  often  fail  as  public  speakers  from  sheer 
excess  of  ideas,  while  a  mere  parrot  of  a  fellow,  with  little 
culture  and  but  a  thimbleful  of  brains,  “goes  off”  in  a 
steady  stream  of  words,  like  a  rain-spout  in  a  thunder-  * 
storm.  As  a  crowded  hall  is  vacated  more  slowly  and  with 
more  difficulty  than  one  with  a  small  assembly,  so  the  very 
multitude  of  the  thoughts  that  press  to  the  lips  may  im¬ 
pede  their  escape.  It  is  well  known,  too,  that  the  very 
delicacy  of  perception,  the  excjuisite  sensibility  to  impres¬ 
sions,  and  the  impulsiveness,  which  are  the  soul  of  all 
elocpience,  are  almost  necessarily  accompanied  by  a  cer¬ 
tain  degree  of  nervous  tremulousness,  just  as  a  finely- 
strung  harp  vibrates  at  the  slightest  touch,  or  whenever 
the  faintest  breeze  passes  over  it. 

A  certain  amount  of  sensibility  is,  of  course,  absolutely 
indispensable  to  the  orator,  and  it  is,  therefore,  a  good 
sign  when  he  feels  some  anxiety  before  rising  to  address 
an  assembly.  The  most  valiant  troops  feel  always  more 
or  less  nervous  at  the  first  cannon-shot;  and  it  is  said 
that  one  of  the  most  famous  generals  of  the  French 
Empire,  who  was  called  “  the  bravest  of  the  brave,”  was 
always  obliged  to  dismount  from  his  horse  at  that  solemn 
moment;  after  which  he  rushed  like  a  lion  into  the  fray. 
But  while  the  orator  must  feel  deeply  what  he  has  to  say, 
his  feeling  must  not  reach  that  vehemence  which  prevents 
the  mind  from  acting, —  which  paralyzes  the  expression 

A 

from  the  very  fullness  of  the  feeling.  As  a  mill-wheel 
may  fail  to  move  from  an  excess  of  water  as  truly  as 


144 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


from  a  lack  of  it,  so  there  may  be  a  sort  of  intellectual 
apoplexy,  which  obstructs  speech,  and  renders  it  powerless 
by  the  very  excess  of  life.  It  was,  doubtless,  for  this 
reason  that  Rousseau  could  never  speak  in  public,  and 
that  the  Abbe  Lamennais,  who  wrote  with  a  pen  of  fire, 
never  ventured  to  ascend  the  pulpit,  or  even  to  address 
a  meeting  of  children. 

Kennedy,  in  his  Life  of  William  Wirt,  speaks  with  deep 
sympathy  of  the  agony  of  a  confused  novice,  whom  he 
saw  arise  a  second  time  to  address  a  jury,  after  having 
stuck  fast  in  his  first  attempt  at  utterance.  The  second 
essay  proving  equally  unfortunate,  he  stood  silent  for  a  few 
moments,  and  then  was  able  to  say, — “  Gentlemen,  I  de¬ 
clare  to  Heaven,  that  if  I  had  an  enemy  upon  whose  head 
I  would  invoke  the  most  cruel  torture,  I  could  wish  him 
no  other  fate  than  to  stand  where  I  stand  now.”  Luck¬ 
ily, —  and  the  fact  is  full  of  encouragement  to  other  suf¬ 
ferers, —  the  very  sympathy  which  this  appeal  won  for 
him,  seemed  almost  instantly  to  give  him  strength.  A 
short  pause  was  followed  by  another  effort,  which  was 
crowned  with  complete,  and  even  triumphant,  success.  It  is 
well  known  that  Erskine,  the  great  forensic  advocate,  was 
at  first  painfully  unready  of  speech.  So  embarrassed  was 
he  in  one  of  his  maiden  efforts  that  he  would  have  aban¬ 
doned  the  attempt  to  harangue  juries,  had  he  not  felt, 
as  he  tells  us,  his  children  tugging  at  his  gown,  and  urging 
him  on,  in  spite  of  his  boggling  and  stammering.  Sheri¬ 
dan  and  Disraeli,  as  all  the  world  knows,  “  hung  fire  ”  in 
their  first  speeches,  and  Curran  was  almost  knocked  down 
by  the  sound  of  his  own  voice  when  he  first  addressed 
his  “  gentlemen  ”  in  a  little  room  of  a  tavern.  The  first 
speech  of  Cobden,  also,  who  became  afterward  one  of  the 


THE  ORATOR^  TRIALS. 


145 


most  powerful  champions  of  the  Anti-Corn-Law  League, 
was  a  humiliating  failure. 

It  is  said  that  Canning  was  sure  of  speaking  his  best 
if  he  rose  in  a  great  fright.  To  feel  his  heart  beating 
rapidly,  to  wish  the  floor  would  open  and  swallow  him, 
were  signs  of  an  oratorical  triumph.  At  a  Mayor’s  din¬ 
ner  in  Liverpool,  he  was  so  nervous  before  he  was  called 
on  to  speak,  that  he  twice  left  the  room  in  order  to  collect 
his  thoughts.  He  has  given  a  graphic  narrative  of  his  feel¬ 
ings  on  making  his  maiden  speech  in  1793,  when  he  en¬ 
tered  the  House  of  Commons.  It  is  full  of  encourage¬ 
ment  to  those  who  are  trembling  in  view  of  the  same 
fiery  ordeal:  “I  intended  to  have  told  you,  at  full  length, 
what  were  my  feelings  at  getting  up,  and  being  pointed  at 
by  the  Speaker,  and  hearing  my  name  called  from  all  sides 
of  the  House;  how  I  trembled  lest  I  should  hesitate  or  mis¬ 
place  a  word. in  the  two  or  three  first  sentences;  while  all 
was  dead  silence  around  me,  and  my  own  voice  sounded  to 
my  ears  quite  like  some  other  gentleman’s;  how,  in  about 
ten  minutes  or  less,  I  got  warmed  in  collision  with  Fox’s 
arguments,  and  did  not  even  care  twopence  for  anybody  or 
anything;  how  I  was  roused,  in  about  half  an  hour,  from 
this  pleasing  state  of  self-sufficiency,  by  accidentally  casting 
my  eyes  toward  the  Opposition  bench,  for  the  purpose  of 
paying  compliments  to  Fox,  and  assuring  him  of  my  respect 
and  admiration,  and  there  seeing  certain  members  of  Oppo¬ 
sition  laughing  (as  I  thought)  and  quizzing  me;  how  this 
accident  abashed  me,  and,  together  with  my  being  out  of 
breath,  rendered  me  incapable  of  utterance;  how  those  who 
sat  below  me  on  the  Treasury  bench,  seeing  what  it  was 
that  distressed  me,  cheered  loudly,  and  the  House  joined 

them-  and  how  in  less  than  a  minute,  straining  every 

7 


146 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


nerve  in  my  body,  and  plucking  up  every  bit  of  resolution 
in  my  heart,  I  went  on  more  boldly  than  ever,  and  getting 
into  a  part  of  my  subject  that  I  liked,  and,  having  the 
House  with  me,  got  happily  and  triumphantly  to  the  end.” 

Dr.  Storrs,  of  New  York,  one  of  the  most  accomplished 
extemporaneous  preachers  in  America,  states  that  when  he 
delivered  his  first  sermon  after  his  installation  in  Brooklyn, 
he  made  almost  a  dead  failure.  He  staggered  along  and 
floundered  for  twenty-five  minutes,  and  then  stopped.  “  I 
sank  back  on  the  chair,  almost  wishing  that  I  had  been 
with  Pharaoh  and  his  hosts  when  the  Red  Sea  went  over 
them!"  It  is  said  that  a  New  Hampshire  legislator,  from 
one  of  the  rural  districts,  having  stuck  fast  in  his  maiden 
speech,  abruptly  concluded  as  follows:  “Mr.  Speaker;  It  is 
pretty  generally  considered,  I  believe,  to  be  pretty  impossi¬ 
ble  for  a  man  to  communicate  those  ideas  whereof  he  is  not 
possessed  off — a  proposition  which  Demosthenes  himself 
would  not  dispute.  “  My  lords,”  said  the  Earl  of  Rochester 
on  a  certain  occasion,  “I  —  I — I  rise  this  time, —  my  lords, 
I  —  I — I  divide  my  discourse  into  four  branches .”  Here 
he  came  to  a  halt,  and  then  added:  “My  lords,  if  ever  I 
rise  again  in  this  house,  I  give  you  leave  to  cut  me  off,  root 
and  branch ,  forever.”  When  Tristam  Burgess,  of  Rhode 
Island,  was  making  a  speech  in  Congress,  he  directed  his 
eagle  eye,  and  pointed  his  forefinger,  toward  his  opponent 
on  the  floor,  and,  in  this  threatening  attitude,  made  a  long 
and  emphatic  pause.  “  That  pause  was  terrible,”  said  a 
fellow- representative  to  Mr.  Burgess  after  the  debate  was 
over.  “  To  no  one  so  terrible  as  to  me,"  responded  the 
orator,  “  for  I  couldn't  think  of  anything  to  say.” 

That  a  public  speaker  in  the  beginning  of  his  career 
should  feel  more  or  less  of  perturbation  on  rising  to  ad- 


THE  ORATOR’S  TRIALS. 


147 


dress  a  public  assembly,  is,  as,  we  have  said,  no  marvel; 
the  only  marvel  is  that  such  embarrassments  are  not  more 
frequent  and  more  disastrous.  When  we  consider  how  little 
is  required  to  disconcert,  and  even  to  paralyze  him, — 
a  fly  on  his  nose, —  a  headache  or  heartache, —  the  distrac¬ 
tions  which  may  assail  him,  and  divert  his  attention,  such 
as  an  appearance  of  slight  in  his  audience,  a  cough,  a 
yawn,  a  rude  laugh,  or  even  a  whisper, —  a  sudden  failure 
of  memory,  so  that  part  of  his  plan,  perhaps  even  its  main 
division,  may  be  suddenly  lost, — the  dullness  of  his  im¬ 
agination,  which  may  picture  feebly  and  confusedly  the 
things  it  presents, —  the  escape  of  an  unlucky  expression, — 
a  sudden  idea,  an  oratorical  inspiration,  which  carries  him 
far  away  from  his  theme, —  a  sentence  badly  begun,  into 
which  he  has  “jumped  with  both  feet  together,  without 
knowing  the  way  out,” — the  inability,  while  finishing  the 
development  of  one  period,  to  throw  forward  the  view  to 
the  next  thought,  the  link  to  connect  it  with  that  which 
is  to  follow, — when  we  think,  too,  that  any  or  all  of  these 
embarrassments  may  occur  to  him  while  a,ll  eyes  are  con¬ 
centrated  upon  him,  watching  his  every  look  and  gesture, — 
it  seems  wonderful  that  any  man, —  above  all,  that  a  man 
with  so  extreme  a  sensibility  as  the  orator  must  have, — 
should  dare  to  face  an  assembly. 

Even  years  of  practice  in  public  speaking  do  not  al¬ 
ways  extinguish  the  timidity  which  is  felt  in  confronting 
an  assemblage  of  listeners.  Cicero,  notwithstanding  his 
long  experience  in  oratory,  does  not  hesitate  to  make  this 
confession:  “I  declare  that  when  I  think  of  the  moment 
when  I  shall  have  to  rise  and  speak  in  defense  of  a  client, 
I  am  not  only  disturbed  in  mind,  but  tremble  in  every 
limb  of  my  body.”  We  are  told  by  some  of  the  ancient 


148 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


writers  that  lie  began  his  speeches  in  a  low,  quivering 
voice,  just  like  a  school-boy  afraid  of  not  saying  his  les¬ 
son  perfectly  enough  to  escape  whipping.  According  to 
Plutarch,  he  scarcely  left  off  trembling  and  quivering 
even  when  he  had  got  thoroughly  into  the  current  and 
substance  of  his  speech.  This  may  have  been  owing  to 
a  naturally  weak,  nervous  constitution,  to  which  also  we 
may  ascribe  the  timidity  of  character  which,  although  on  a 
memorable  occasion,  he  could  thunder  forth,  Contempsi 
Catalince  gladios ,  non  pertimescam  tnos ,  yet  caused  him,  in 
the  strife  of  contending  factions,  painfully  to  oscillate  be¬ 
tween  his  regards  for  Pompey  and  his  fear  of  Caesar. 
An  English  reviewer  tells  of  an  eminent  law-lord,  the 
very  model  of  senatorial  and  judicial  eloquence  of  the 
composed  and  dignified  order,  who  has  been  seen  to  trem¬ 
ble,  when  he  rose  to  address  the  House  of  Lords,  like  a 
thorough-bred  racer  when  first  brought  to  the  starting- 
post.  Even  the  great  reviewer,  Jeffrey,  once  stuck  in  a 
speech.  Being  chosen  by  the  admirers  of  John  Kemble 
to  present  him  with  a  snuff-box  at  a  public  dinner,  Jeffrey, 
a  small  man,  found  himself  so  overwhelmed  and  sunk  to 
the  earth  by  the  obeisances  of  the  tall  tragic  god,  that 
he  got  confused,  stopped,  and  sat  down,  without  even 
thrusting  the  box  into  the  actor's  hands. 

Patrick  Henry  often  hesitated  at  first,  and  had  the  air 
of  laboring  under  a  distressing  degree  of  modesty  or 
timidity,  which  continued  to  characterize  his  manner 
throughout,  unless  he  was  led  to  throw  it  off  by  some  great 
excitement.  Dr.  Chalmers,  though  a  giant  in  the  pulpit, 
never  was  able  to  speak  extempore  in  a  way  satisfactorily 
to  himself,  though  the  cause  was  not  bashfulness,  but  the 
overmastering  fluency  of  his  mind.  Thoughts  and  words 


THE  ORATOR’S  TRIALS. 


149 


came  to  his  lips  in  a  flood,  andJJwtfS  impeded  each  other, 
like  water  which  one  attempts  to  pour  all  at  once  out 
of  a  narrow-mouthed  jug.  Lord  Macaulay,  in  a  letter  to 
his  sister,  says  of  himself:  “  Nothing  but  strong  excite¬ 
ment  and  a  great  occasion  overcomes  a  certain  reserve 
and  mauvaise  honte  which  I  have  in  public  speaking;  not 
a  mauvaise  honte  which  in  the  least  confuses  me  or 
makes  me  hesitate  for  a  word,  but  which  keeps  me  from 
putting  any  fervor  into  my  tone  or  my  action.'’  If  ever  a 
man  spoke  as  if  he  never  knew  fear  or  modesty,  it  was 
the  late  Earl  of  Derby.  Yet  he  said  to  Macaulay  that  he 
never  rose  without  the  greatest  uneasiness.  “  My  throat 
and  lips,”  he  said,  “  when  I  am  going  to  speak,  are  as 
dry  as  those  of  a  man  who  is  going  to  be  hanged.” 
Tiernay,  who  was  one  of  the  most  ready  and  fluent  de¬ 
baters  ever  known,  made  a  confession  similar  to  Stanlev’s. 
He  never  spoke,  he  said,  without  feeling  his  knees  knock 
together  when  he  rose.  A  junior  counsel  once  congratu¬ 
lated  Sir  William  Follett  on  his  perfect  composure  in 
prospect  of  a  great  case.  Sir  William  asked  his  friend 
merely  to  feel  his  hand,  which  was  wet  with  anxiety. 
A  famous  parliamentary  orator  said  that  his  speeches  cost 
him  two  sleepless  nights, —  one  in  which  he  was  thinking 
what  to  say,  the  other  in  which  he  was  lamenting  what 
he  might  have  said  better.  Mirabeau,  with  all  his  fire, 
dragged  a  little  ( etait  un  peu  trainant)  at  the  beginning 
of  his  speeches,  and  was  sometimes  incoherent;  but,  gain¬ 
ing  momentum  as  he  proceeded,  he  swept  onward  at  last 
with  resistless  power.  Like  a  huge  ship  which  in  a  dead 
calm  rolls  and  tosses  on  the  heavy  swell,  but,  as  the  wind 
fills  its.  sails,  dashes  proudly  onward,  so  the  great  orator 
rocked  on  the  sea  of  thought,  till,  caught  by  the  breath 


150 


ORATORY  AUD  ORATORS. 


of  passion,  he  moved  onward  with  majestic  might  and 
motion. 

William  Pinkney  was  one  of  the  haughtiest,  most  self' 
confident,  and  most  vehement  of  orators;  yet,  in  one  of  hi? 
very  latest  efforts  at  the  bar,  when  the  occasion  had  drawn 
public  expectation  toward  him,  his  lips  were  seen  to  part 
with  their  color,  his  cheeks  to  turn  pale,  and  his  knees  to 
shake.  He  often  said  that  he  never  addressed  an  audience 
without  some  painful  and  embarrassing  emotions  at  the 
beginning.  As  he  advanced  with  his  speech,  these  boyish 
tremors  disappeared,  and  he  became  bold,  erect,  and  dicta¬ 
torial.  Gough  is  said  to  be  still  troubled  with  the  stage- 
fright  which  he  can  mimic  so  well  in  his  lecture  upon 
“  Oratory,”  though  he  has  faced  audiences  for  more  than 
thirty  years.  Rufus  Choate  would  often,  before  beginning 
a  jury  address,  look  as  restless,  nervous,  and  wretched  as  a 
man  on  the  scaffold,  momentarily  expecting  the  drop  to  fall 
under  him.  Many  speakers  who  have  no  fears  of  a  fa¬ 
miliar  audience,  are  yet  nervous  in  a  new  position.  We 
have  seen  the  Governor  of  a  great  State,  who  was  perfectly 
at  home  on  the  stump,  quake  like  a  school-boy  when  stand¬ 
ing  up  before  a  body  of  college  students  whom  he  had  re¬ 
luctantly  consented  to  address.  Lord  Eldon  once  said  that 
he  was  always  a  little  nervous  in  speaking  at  the  Gold¬ 
smiths’  dinner,  though  he  could  talk  before  Parliament 
with  as  much  indifference  as  if  it  were  so  many  cabbage- 
plants. 

Not  only  courage,  but  presence  of  mind,  is  necessary  to 
him  who  aspires  to  address  public  assemblies.  Not  only  is 
he  liable  to  a  sudden  attack  of  nervousness,  or  to  have  his 
thunder  “  checked  in  mid-volley  ”  for  want  of  a  word  or 
an  illustration,  but  he  may  be  interrupted  by  an  opponent 


THE  ORATOR’S  TRIALS. 


151 


at  the  very  moment  when  he  is  seen  to  be  making  his  best 
point;  “ugly,*’  insinuating  questions  may  be  put  to  him,  for 
the  purpose  of  disconcerting  him ;  or  a  concerted  effort  may 
be  made,  by  those  who  dread  the  effect  of  his  eloquence,  to 
silence  him,  or,  at  least,  to  drown  his  voice  by  “  oh!  oh!”s, 
yawns,  mock  cheers,  coughing,  hisses,  calls  to  order,  or  any 
of  the  other  devices  which  disingenuous  opponents  know 
so  well  how  to  employ.  Erskine  was  morbidly  sensitive  to 
such  annoyances  ;  and  sometimes  his  suffering  was  so 
keen  as  absolutely  to  paralyze  his  great  powers.  Dr. 
Croly,  in  his  “  History  of  the  Reign  of  George  III,”  states 
that  the  smallest  appearance  of  indifference  in  the  great 
advocate’s  audience  checked  the  flow  of  his  impetuous  ora¬ 
tory,  and  sometimes  silenced  his  thunder  “  in  mid-volley.” 
Aware  of  this  infirmity,  a  shrewd  opposing  attorney  would 
plant  a  sleepy-headed  man  beneath  the  Judge,  and  directly 
opposite  the  place  where  Erskine  was  wont  to  address  the 
jury.  Exactly  at  the  moment  when  the  speaker  was  most 
impassioned,  and,  working  up  a  thrilling  climax,  was 
making  the  deepest  impression  upon  the  twelve  men  be¬ 
fore  him,  the  sleepy  hind  would  make  a  hideous  grimace, 
and  give  way  to  the  utmost  expression  of  weariness.  An 
effective  pause  would  be  broken  in  upon  by  a  fearful 
yawn;  and  a  splendid  peroration  would  be  interrupted 
by  a  titter  in  the  second  row,  and  the  cry  of  “silence” 
from  the  ushers  at  the  too  plain  indications  of  a  snore. 
This  would  cap  the  climax  of  the  speaker’s  misery,  and, 
unable  to  endure  the  torture,  he  would  abruptly  sit 
down. 

Not  only  was  Erskine  thus  sensitive  touching  a  lack 
of  attention  by  his  audience,  but  he  was  equally  distressed 
by  an  apparent  lack  of  interest  manifested  by  the  coun- 


152 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


sel  associated  with  him  in  a  cause.  Noticing  on  one  oc- 
casion  the  absent  or  desponding  look  of  Garrow,  who  had 
aided  him  in  a  cause,  he  whispered:  “Who  do  you  think 
can  get  on,  with  that  wet  blanket  of  a  face  of  yours 
before  him?”  His  first  speech  in  the  House  of  Lords  was 
spoiled  by  the  real  or  pretended  indifference  of  Pitt,  who, 
after  listening  a  few  minutes,  and  taking  a  note  or  two  as 
if  intending  to  reply,  dashed  pen  and  paper  upon  the  floor 
with  a  contemptuous  smile.  Erskine,  it  is  said,  never  re¬ 
covered  from  this  expression  of  disdain;  “his  voice  faltered, 
he  struggled  through  the  remainder  of  his  speech,  and  sank 
into  his  seat  dispirited  and  shorn  of  his  fame.”  On  another 
occasion,  Pitt  rose  after  Erskine  and  began:  “I  rise  to 
reply  to  the  right  honorable  gentleman  (Pox)  who  spoke 
last  but  one.  As  for  the  honorable  and  learned  gentleman 
who  spoke  last,  he  did  no  more  than  regularly  repeat  what 
fell  from  the  gentleman  who  preceded  him,  and  as  regu¬ 
larly  weaken  what  he  repeated."  Addison  tells  an  amus¬ 
ing  anecdote  of  a  counsellor  whom  he  knew,  in  West¬ 
minster  Hall,  who  never  pleaded  without  a  piece  of  pack 
thread  in  his  hand,  which  he  used  to  twist  about  a  thumb 
or  a  finger  all  the  while  he  was  speaking;  the  wags  of 
the  day  called  it  “  the  thread  of  his  discourse,”  because 
he  could  not  utter  a  word  without  it.  “One  of  his  clients, 
who  was  more  meny  than  wise,  stole  it  from  him  one 
day  in  the  midst  of  his  pleading;  but  he  had  better  have 
let  it  alone,  for  he  lost  his  cause  by  his  jest.” 

It  is  said  that  Daniel  Webster  once  rose  to  speak  by 
request  at  a  poultry  show,  when  a  giant  Shanghai  got  the 
floor,  and  burst  forth  in  so  defiant  and  ear-splitting  a 
strain  that  the  orator  sat  down.  It  is  not  every  orator, 
even  among  the  veteran  practitioners  of  the  art,  who  can 


THE  ORATOR’S  TRIALS. 


153 


preserve  his  self-command  in  such  moments.  Few  speakers 
are  as  ready,  when  momentarily  nonplused,  as  Curran  was 
when  he  was  struggling  for  an  illustration  of  his  client’s 
innocence.  “It  is  clear  as  —  as — (at  that  moment  the 
sun  shone  into  the  court)  “  clear  as  yonder  sunbeam  that 
now  bursts  upon  us  with  its  splendid  coruscations.”  Not 
all  men  have  the  wit  and  wisdom  of  Father  Taylor,  the 
famous  preacher  to  sailors  in  Boston.  It  is  said  that  once 
getting  involved  in  a  sentence,  where  clause  after  clause 
had  been  added  to  each  other,  and  one  had  branched  off 
in  this  direction,  and  another  in  that,  till  he  was  hope¬ 
lessly  entangled,  and  the  starting  point  was  quite  out  of 
sight,  he  paused,  and  shook  himself  free  of  the  perplexity, 
by  saying:  “Brethren,  I  don’t  exactly  know  where  I  went 
in,  in  beginning  this  sentence,  and  I  don’t  in  the  least 
know  where  I’m  coming  out;  but  one  thing  I  do  know, 
I’m  bound  for  the  Kingdom  of  Heaven!”  So  he  “took 
a  new  departure,  and  left  the  broken-backed  centipede  of 
a  sentence  lying  where  it  might,  in  the  track  behind 
him.”  Even  he,  however,  was  nonplused  once.  He  had 
vividly  depicted  an  impenitent  sinner,  under  the  figure 
of  a  storm-tossed  vessel,  bowing  under  the  hurricane, 
every  bit  of  canvas  torn  from  its  spars,  and  driving  madly 
toward  the  rock-bound  coast  of  Cape  Ann.  “And  how,” 
he  cried  despairingly,  at  the  climax  of  his  skillfully-elab¬ 
orated  metaphor,  “oh!  how  shall  the  poor  sinner  be  saved?” 
At  this  moment  an  old  salt  in  the  gallery,  who  had  hung 
spell-bound  on  the  orator’s  lips,  his  whole  soul  absorbed 
in  the  scene,  could  restrain  himself  no  longer,  and,  spring¬ 
ing  to  his  feet,  he  screamed, — “  Let  him  put  his  helm  hard 
down,  and  hear  away  for  Squam!  ” 

It  is  related  of  the  witty  Scotch  advocate,  Harry  Erskine, 


154 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


that  once,  when  pleading  in  London  before  the  House  of 
Lords,  he  had  occasion  to  speak  of  certain  curators,  and 
pronounced  the  word  as  in  Scotland,  with  the  accent  on  the 
first  syllable,  curators.  One  of  the  English  judges  could  not 
stand  this,  and  cried  out,  “We  are  in  the  habit  of  saying 
curator  in  this  country,  Mr.  Erskine,  following  the  analogy 
of  the  Latin  language,  in  which,  as  you  are  aware,  the 
penultimate  syllable  is  long.”  “  I  thank  your  lordship 
very  much,”  was  Erskine’s  reply;  “we  are  weak  enough 
in  Scotland  to  think  that  in  pronouncing  the  word  carator, 
we  follow  the  analogy  of  the  English  language.  But  I  need 
scarcely  say  that  I  bow  with  pleasure  to  the  opinion  of  so 
learned  a  senator  and  so  great  an  orator  as  your  lordship.” 
The  coolness  and  readiness  of  William  Pitt  in  a  sudden 
emergency  was  strikingly  exemplified  in  his  masterly  speech 
made  in  February,  1783,  in  reply  to  Fox.  In  defending 
himself  from  the  personal  attack  of  his  great  adversary,  he 
began  quoting  the  fine  lines  of  Horace  touching  Fortune 
(Odes,  book  iii,  Ode  29,  lines  53-6): 

lk  Laudo  manentem:  si  celeres  quatit 
Pennas,  resigno  quae  dedit — ” 

when  suddenly  the  thought  struck  him  that  the  next  words, 
“  et  mea  virtute  me  involvo ,”  would  appear  unbecoming  if 
taken  (as  they  might  be)  for  a  self-compliment.  Mr. 
Wraxall,  who  was  present,  says  that  he  instantly  cast  his 
eyes  upon  the  floor,  while  a  momentary  silence  elapsed 
which  turned  upon  him  the  attention  of  the  whole  House. 
Drawing  his  handkerchief  from  his  pocket,  he  passed  it 
over  his  lips,  and  then,  recovering  as  it  were  from  his 
temporary  embarrassment,  he  struck  his  hand  with  great 
force  upon  the  table,  and  finished  the  sentence  in  the  most 
emphatic  manner,  omitting  the  words  referred  to: 


'i 


THE  ORATOR’S  TRIALS. 


155 


“  Laudo  manentem:  si  celeres  quatic 
Pennas,  resigno  quae  dedit  ( et  meet 
Virtute  me  involvo)  probamque 
Pauperiem  sine  dote  quaero.” 

The  effect,  we  are  told,  was  electric;  and  “the  cheers  with 
which  his  friends  greeted  him,  as  he  sat  down,  were  fol¬ 
lowed  with  that  peculiar  kind  of  buzz  which  is  a  higher 
testimony  to  oratorical  merit  than  the  noisier  manifesta¬ 
tions  of  applause.” 

Burke,  in  his  early  days,  before  his  brain  had  been 
unhinged  by  the  French  Revolution,  was  sometimes  ready 
and  happy  in  his  retorts.  Attacking  Lord  North  in  one 
of  his  speeches,  for  demanding  further  supplies  amid  the 
most  lavish  expenditure,  he  cpioted  a  saying  of  Cicero: 
“  Magnum  vectigal  est  parsimonia,”  accenting  vectigal  on 
the  first  syllable.  Lord  North,  who  was  a  fine  classical 
scholar,  cried  out,  impatiently,  from  the  Treasury  Bench, 
“  vectigal ,  vectigal!"  “  I  thank  the  right  honorable  gentle¬ 
man,”  retorted  Burke,  “for  his  correction;  and,  that  he 
may  enjoy  the  benefit  of  it,  I  repeat  the  words:  ‘Magnum 
vectigal  est  parsimonia.’  ”  At  a  later  period  of  his  life  he 
lost  his  self-command,  and  by  his  irritability  of  temper 
was  placed  at  a  great  disadvantage  in  the  “  wars  of  the 
giants.*'  A  policy  of  systematic  insult  was  employed  by 
some  of  his  enemies  in  the  House  of  Commons,  to  put  him 
down.  “Muzzling  the  lion”  was  the  term  applied  to  this 
treatment  of  the  greatest  political  philosopher  of  the  age. 
Coughing,  ironical  cheers,  affected  laughter,  assailed  him 
when  he  arose  to  speak,  which,  though  he  generally  dis¬ 
dained  to  notice  them  at  the  time,  nevertheless  soured 
his  temper,  and  sometimes  paralyzed  his  tongue.  George 
Selwyn  states  that  on  one  occasion  Burke  had  just  arisen 
in  the  House,  with  some  papers  in  his  hand,  on  the  sub- 


156 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


ject  of  which  he  intended  to  make  a  motion,  when  a  rough- 
hewn  country  member,  who  had  no  taste  for  his  magnificent 
harangues,  started  up  and  said:  “Mr.  Speaker,  I  hope  the 
honorable  gentleman  does  not  mean  to  read  that  large 
bundle  of  papers,  and  to  bore  us  with  a  long  speech  into 
the  bargain.”  Burke  was  so  suffocated  with  rage  as  to  be 
incapable  of  speech,  and  rushed  out  of  the  House.  “  Never 
before,”  says  Selwyn,  “  did  I  see  the  fable  realized  of  a 
Hon  put  to  flight  by  the  braying  of  an  ass.” 

There  are  orators  who  have  so  perfect  a  self-command 
that  hardly  anything  short  of  an  earthquake  can  disturb 
it.  They  seem  to  hold  their  passions  in  control  by  the 
turning  of  a  peg,  as  did  the  rider  of  the  Tartar  horse  of 
the  fairy  tale,  which  at  one  moment  dashed  through  the 
air  at  the  rate  of  a  thousand  furlongs  an  hour,  and  the 
next  stood  as  motionless  as  the  Caucasus.  There  are  others 
to  whom  interruptions  and  attempts  to  check  the  impetu¬ 
ous  flow  of  their  speech,  appear  to  be  positive  blessings. 
Taunts,  sneers,  hisses,  which  ruffle  and  confuse  less  fiery 
spirits,  only  put  them  upon  their  mettle,  stimulate  them, 
and  call  forth  their  latent  powers.  Like  a  mountain  stream 
which  has  been  dammed,  the  swelling  flood  of  their  elo¬ 
quence  acquires  increased  fury  from  resistance,  and  burst¬ 
ing  through  all  its  restraints,  overwhelms  everything  in 
its  path.  Such  an  orator  was  Lord  Chatham.  While  on 
the  one  hand  he  often,  by  the  power  of  his  eye,  cowed 
down  an  antagonist  in  the  midst  of  his  speech,  and  threw 
him  into  utter  confusion  by  a  single  glance  of  scorn  or 
contempt,  he  himself  was  only  aroused  by  opposition.  Any 
attempt  to  impede  him  in  the  utterance  of  offensive  words 
only  called  forth  a  more  vigorous  repetition  of  the  offense. 
Some  of  his  most  brilliant  oratorical  successes  originated 


THE  ORATOR'S  TRIALS. 


157 


at  moments  of  overbearing  impatience,  when  he  was  in¬ 
fringing  on  the  rules  of  debate.  Murray  (afterward  Lord 
Mansfield),  on  the  other  hand,  was  greatly  wanting  in 
nerve,  and  though  the  ablest  man,  as  well  as  the  ablest 
debater,  in  the  House  of  Commons,  according  to  Lord 
Waldegrave,  bore  in  agitated  silence  the  assaults  of  Pitt 
(afterward  Lord  Chatham),  to  which  he  did  not  dare  to 
reply.  Butler  states,  in  his  “  Reminiscences,”  that  on  one 
occasion,  after  Murray  had  suffered  for  some  time,  Pitt 
stopped,  threw  his  eyes  around,  then  fixing  their  whole 
power  on  his  opponent,  said:  “I  must  now  address  a  few 
words  to  Mr.  Solicitor:  they  shall  be  few,  but  they  shall 
be  daggers.”  Murray  was  agitated;  the  look  was  con¬ 
tinued;  the  agitation  increased.  “Felix  trembles,”  ex¬ 
claimed  Pitt:  “he  shall  hear  me  some  other  dav.”  He 
sat  down;  Murray  made  no  reply,  and  a  languid  debate 
is  said  to  have  shown  the  paralysis  of  the  House. 

Mirabeau,  who  in  physical  gifts  strongly  resembled 
Chatham,  owed  likewise  many  of  his  oratorical  triumphs 
to  opposition.  It  has  been  justly  said  that  in  retort,  in 
that  kind  of  abrupt,  indignant,  disdainful  repartee  which 
crushes  its  victim  as  by  a  blow,  he  was,  like  Chatham, 
surpassed  by  none  of  his  contemporaries,  and,  like  Chat¬ 
ham,  too,  he  was  peculiarly  dexterous  in  converting  a 
taunt  into  a  victorious  rebuke.  Patrick  Henry,  even  in 
his  most  fiery  moments,  equally  retained  his  self-posses¬ 
sion.  His  coolness  under  trying  circumstances,  when 
speaking  against  the  Stamp  Act  in  the  Virginia  House  of 
Burgesses,  is  familiar  to  all  Americans.  As  he  uttered 
the  celebrated  passage:  “Caesar  had  his  Brutus, —  Charles 
the  First  his  Cromwell, —  and  George  the  Third” — the 
cry  of  “Treason!”  was  heard  from  the  speaker,  and 


158 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


“Treason,  treason!”  was  echoed  from  every  part  of  the 
House.  “  It  was  one  of  those  trying  moments,"  says  Mr. 
Wirt,  Henry’s  biographer,  “which  are  decisive  of  charac¬ 
ter.  Henry  faltered  not  for  an  instant;  but  rising  to  a 
loftier  attitude,  and  fixing  on  the  speaker  an  eye  of  the 
most  determined  fire,  he  finished  his  sentence  with  the 
firmest  emphasis, — ‘  may  profit  by  their  example.  If  this 
be  treason,  make  the  most  of  it.’  ”  One  of  the  neatest 
retorts  ever  made  by  a  public  speaker,  was  that  made 
by  Coleridge  to  some  marks  of  disapprobation  during  his 
democratic  lectures  at  Bristol:  “I  am  not  at  all  surprised 
that,  when  the  red-hot  prejudices  of  aristocrats  are  sud¬ 
denly  plunged  into  the  cool  element  of  reason,  they  should 
go  off  with  a  hiss."* 

In  this  account  of  the  orator’s  trials  we  have  men¬ 
tioned  only  some  of  the  most  obvious  ones.  We  have 
said  nothing  of  the  ever-varying  moods  of  feeling  to 
which  a  person  of  so  much  sensibility  is  inevitably  sub¬ 
ject,  and  which  make  him  more  or  less  the  puppet  of 
circumstances.  There  are  moments  when  he  feels  him- 


*  Happy  as  was  this  reply,  it  was  surpassed  in  overwhelming  effect  by  a 
somewhat  irreverent  one  made  by  that  brilliant  but  erratic  orator,  the  late 
Thomas  Marshall,  of  Kentucky.  Toward  the  close  of  his  life,  when,  unfortu¬ 
nately,  his  oratorical  inspiration  was  too  often  artificial,  he  was  making  a  speech 
to  a  crowded  audience  at  Buffalo,  when  he  was  interrupted  by  a  political  oppo¬ 
nent,  who,  pretending  not  to  hear  distinctly,  tried  to  embarrass  him  by  putting 
his  hand  to  his  ear  and  crying  out  “Louder!”  Mr.  Marshall,  thereupon, 
pitched  his  voice  several  times  on  a  higher  and  yet  higher  key;  but  the  only 
effect  on  his  tormentor  was  to  draw  forth  a  still  more  energetic  cry  of  “  Louder! 
please,  sir,  louder!  ”  At  last,  being  interrupted  for  the  fourth  time  and  in  the 
midst  of  one  of  his  most  thrilling  appeals,  Mr.  Marshall,  indignant  at  the  trick, 
as  he  now  discovered  it  to  be,  paused  for  a  moment,  and  fixing  his  eye  first  on 
his  enemy  and  then  on  the  presiding  officer,  said:  “Mr.  President,  on  the  last 
day,  when  the  angel  Gabriel  shall  have  descended  from  the  heavens,  and,  plac¬ 
ing  one  foot  upon  the  sea  and  the  other  upon  the  land,  shall  lift  to  his  lips  the 
golden  trumpet,  and  proclaim  to  the  living  and  to  the  resurrected  dead  that  time 
shall  be  no  more,  I  have  no  doubt,  sir,  that  some  infernal  fool  from  Buffalo  will 
start  up  and  cry  out,  ‘ Louder ,  please,  sir ,  louder! 1  ” 


THE  ORATOR’S  TRIALS. 


159 


self  in  quick  electrical  sympathy  with  his  audience,  and 
every  breath  and  current  of  thought  and  feeling  by 
which  it  is  affected,  sweeps  through  his  own  soul, — when 
he  feels  a  stream  of  mental  influence  from  every  person 
that  he  addresses,  as  potent  and  stimulating  as  if  they 
were  all  so  many  galvanic  batteries,  with  their  wires  of 
communication  concentring  in  his  own  bosom.  There 
are  other  times  when  he  feels  himself  so  repelled  and 
chilled  by  the  cold,  stern  gaze  of  the  faces  before  him, 
that  all  his  faculties  are  benumbed.  There  are  moments 
of  inspiration  when  he  feels  a  kind  of  divine  afflatus,  and, 
instead  of  making  an  effort  to  speak,  he  seems  to  be 
spoken  from;  his  soul  is  so  flooded  with  emotion,  that  he 
seems  to  be  lifted  off  his  feet,  and  to  tread  on  air.  He 
speaks  at  such  times  in  a  kind  of  ecstasy  or  rapture,  and 
hours  may  pass  without  any  consciousness  of  fatigue.  There 
are  other  moments  when  his  thoughts  and  ideas,  instead 
of  flowing  apparently  from  an  inexhaustible  fountain,  can 
only  be  pumped  up  with  great  effort;  when  expression 
and  illustration,  instead  of  flocking  to  his  lips,  seem  to 
fly  from  them.  Again,  how  often  when  he  has  carefully 
prepared  a  speech,  does  he  have  to  wait  for  an  oppor¬ 
tunity  to  deliver  it,  till  the  fire  and  glow  that  attended 
its  preparation  have  become  extinct!  How  often  do  the 
happiest  ideas  and  illustrations  flash  upon  him  afterT^ 
has  sat  down!  He  could  pulverize  his  adversary  were 
the  debate  to  be  repeated,  but  his  crushing  arguments 
have  presented  themselves  too  late.  William  Wirt  had 
once  an  afflicting  experience  of  this  kind,  which,  with 
others  that  might  be  cited,  tends  to  show  that  oratorical 
victories  are  due  to  sudden  inspirations,  to  opportunity  or 
luck,  as  often  as  victories  in  the  field.  “  Had  the  cause 


160 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


been  to  argue  over  again  on  the  next  day,”  he  wrote  to 
a  friend,  after  having  grappled  with  Pinkney,  “  I  could 
have  shivered  him,  for  his  discussion  revived  all  my  for¬ 
gotten  topics,  and,  as  I  lay  in  my  bed  on  the  following 
morning,  arguments  poured  themselves  out  before  me  as 
a  cornucopia.  I  should  have  wept  at  the  consideration  of 
what  I  had  lost,  if  I  had  not  prevented  it  by  leaping  out 
of  bed,  and  beginning  to  sing  and  dance  like  a  maniac.” 

It  will  be  seen  by  these  examples  that  there  are  oc¬ 
casions  when  .courage,  coolness,  presence  of  mind,  and 
promptness  of  decision  are  required  of  the  orator  as 
truly  as  of  the  general  on  the  field  of  battle.  Especially 
does  he  require  them  on  field-days,  in  parliamentary  du¬ 
ellos,  in  the  hand-to-hand  encounter  of  intellects,  where 
the  home  thrust  is  often  so  suddenly  given.  At  such  times, 
it  is  not  enough  to  be  endowed  with  the  rarest  intel¬ 
lectual  gifts,  unless  he  is  able  also  to  command  his  whole 
intellectual  force  the  moment  he  wants  to  use  it.  We 
believe,  therefore,  that  there  is  no  grander  manifestation 
of  the  power  of  the  human  mind,  than  that  of  an  orator 
launched  suddenly,  without  warning,  on  the  ocean  of  im- 
provisation,  and  spreading  his  sails  to  the  breeze;  coolly 
yet  instantaneously  deciding  upon  his  course,  and  earnestly 
and  even  passionately  pursuing  it;  at  the  same  moment 
guiding  his  bark  amid  the  rocks  and  quicksands  on  the 
way,  and  forecasting  his  future  course;  now  seemingly 
overwhelmed  in  a  storm  of  interruption,  yet  rising  stronger 
from  opposition;  now  suddenly  collecting  his  forces  in  an 
interval  of  applause,  battling  with  and  conquering  both 
himself  and  his  audience,  and  mounting  triumphantly  bil¬ 
low  after  billow,  until  with  his  auditory  he  reaches  the 
haven  on  which  his  longing  eye  has  been  fixed. 


CHAPTER  VI. 


THE  ORATOR’S  HELPS. 


AS  language  is  the  orator’s  principal  instrument  of  con- 
viction  and  persuasion,  it  is  evident  that  a  perfect 
command  of  it  is  absolutely  indispensable  to  the  highest 
success.  It  is  evident,  too,  that  such  a  command  does  not 
come  by  instinct  or  inspiration,  but  must  be  gained  by  dint 
of  study  and  painstaking.  The  power  of  speaking  in  clear, 
vigorous,  racy,  picturesque,  and  musical  English, —  of  em¬ 
ploying  the  “  aptest  words  in  the  aptest  places,” — demands 
of  him  who  would  possess  himself  of  it,  as  careful  and  per¬ 
sistent  culture  as  that  of  sounding  the  depths  of  metaphys¬ 
ics,  or  of  solving  the  toughest  mathematical  problems.  But 
how  shall  this  power  be  acquired?  We  answer,  partly  by 
the  constant  practice  of  composition  with  the  pen  (of  which 
we  shall  speak  more  at  length  further  on),  and  partly  in 
two  other  ways,  viz.,  by  reading  and  translation.  Next  in 
value  to  the  frequent  use  of  the  pen,  is  the  practice  of  care¬ 
fully  reading  and  re-reading  the  best  prose  writers  and 
poets,  and  committing  their  finest  passages  to  memory,  so 
as  to  be  able  to  repeat  them  at  any  moment  without  effort. 
The  advantages  of  this  practice  are  that  it  not  only 
strengthens  the  memory,  but  fills  and  fertilizes  the  mind 
with  pregnant  and  suggestive  thoughts,  expressed  in  the 
happiest  language,  stores  it  with  graceful  images,  and, 

above  all,  forms  the  ear  to  the  rhythm  and  number  of 
7*  161 


162 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


the  period,  which  add  so  much  to  its  impressiveness  and 
force. 

If  we  study  the  masterpieces  of  eloquence  we  shall  find 
that  it  is  in  a  large  measure  to  the  rhythmus,  the  harmony 
of  the  sentences,  that  many  of  the  most  striking  passages 
owe  their  effect.  The  ancient  orators  paid  especial  atten¬ 
tion  to  this  point.  They  bestowed  incredible  pains  not  only 
upon  the  choice  of  words,  but  upon  their  metrical  arrange¬ 
ment,  so  that  they  might  fall  most  pleasingly  upon  the  ear. 
Cicero  quotes  half-a-dozen  words  from  a  speech  of  Carbo, 
which  were  so  exquisitely  selected  and  collocated  that  they 
almost  brought  his  hearers  to  their  feet.  It  may  be  thought 
that  so  much  attention  to  form  may  distract  the  speaker 
from  proper  attention  to  the  substance  of  his  discourse, 
and  tempt  him  to  sacrifice  sense  to  sound;  and  such,  indeed, 
was  the  effect  in  the  times  that  succeeded  the  dissolution 
of  the  Roman  Republic.  Quintilian  states  that  it  was  the 
ridiculous  boast  of  certain  orators  in  the  days  of  the 
declension  of  genuine  eloquence,  that  their  harangues 
were  capable  of  being  set  to  music ,  and  sung  upon  the 
stage.  So  far  was  this  affectation  carried  by  the  younger 
Gracchus,  that  when  he  harangued  the  populace,  he  used 
to  employ  a  skillful  flute-player,  to  stand  behind  him  in 
a  position  where  he  could  not  be  observed,  and,  by  the 
tones  of  his  instrument,  regulate  the  proper  pitch  of  his 
voice!  It  was  this  depravity  of  taste  which  gave  rise  to 
what  Tacitus  calls  “  the  very  indecent  and  preposterous, 
though  very  frequent  expression,”  that  such  an  orator 
speaks  smoothly,  and  that  such  a  dancer  moves  eloquently . 
But  the  abuse  of  an  art  is  no  argument  against  its  use. 
The  example  of  the  Prince  of  Orators  shows  that,  in  cul¬ 
tivating  the  form,  we  need  not  separate  it  from  the  sub- 


THE  ORATOR’S  HELPS. 


163 


stance;  that  this  is  not  true  art,  but  the  want  of  art, 
since  for  true  art  the  most  perfect  form  is  nothing  less 
than  the  clearest  and  most  transparent  appearance  of  the 
substance. 

It  is  the  melody  of  a  sentence  which,  so  to  speak,  makes 
it  cut, —  which  gives  it  speedy  entrance  into  the  mind, 
causes  it  to  penetrate  deeply,  and  to  exercise  a  magic 
power  over  ' the  heart.  It  is  not  enough  that  the  speak¬ 
er's  utterances  impress  the  mind  of  the  hearer;  they 
should  ring  in  his  ears;  they  should  appeal  to  the  senses, 
as  well  as  to  the  feelings,  the  imagination,  and  the  intel¬ 
lect*,  then,  when  they  seize  at  once  on  the  whole  man, 
on  body,  soul,  and  spirit,  will  they  “  swell  in  the  heart, 
and  kindle  in  the  eyes,"  and  constrain  him,  he  knows 
not  why,  to  believe  and  to  obey.  Let  the  student  of 
oratory,  then,  brood  over  the  finest  passages  of  English 
composition,  both  prose  and  poetry,  in  his  leisure  hours, 
till  his  mind  is  surcharged  with  them;  let  him  read  and 
re-read  the  ever- varied  verse  of  Shakspeare,  the  majestic 
and  pregnant  lines  of  Milton,  the  harmonious  and  ca- 
denced  compositions  of  Bolingbroke,  Grattan,  Erskine, 
Curran,  and  Robert  Hall.  Let  him  dwell  upon  these  pas¬ 
sages  and  recite  them  till  they  almost  seem  his  own, — 
and  insensibly,  without  effort,  he  wTill  “  form  to  theirs 
the  relish  of  his  soul,"  and  will  find  himself  adopting 
their  language,  and  imitating  them  instinctively  through 
a  natural  love  for  the  beautiful,  and  the  strong  desire 
which  every  one  feels  to  reproduce  what  is  pleasing  to 
him.  By  this  process  he  will  have  prepared  in  his  mind, 
-so  to  speak,  a  variety  of  oratorical  moulds,  of  the  most 

exquisite  shape  and  pattern,  into  which  the  stream  of 

0 

thought,  flowing  red-hot  and  molten,  from  a  mind  glow- 


164 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


ikg  with  the  tire  of  declamation,  will  become  fixed,  as 
metal  in  a  foundry  takes  the  form  of  a  noble  or  beauti¬ 
ful  statue. 

Will  it  be  said  that  it  is  the  utile  and  not  the 
chrum  which  is  the  end  of  oratory;  that  it  turns  aside 
from  its  purpose  when  it  seeks  to  please,  instead  of  to 
convince  and  persuade;  and  that  the  metrical  arrange¬ 
ment  of  words,  which  is  one  of  the  principal  charms  of 
poetry,  is  unfit  for  prose?  We  answer  that  prose  has  its 
music,  its  characteristic  melody,  as  well  as  poetry,  though 
of  a  different  kind;  not  that  of  the  lyre  or  the  lute,  which 
easily  “  weds  itself  to  immortal  verse,”  but  a  wild  and 
free,  an  ever-pleasant,  though  ever- varying  music,  like 
that  of  Nature.  It  is  a  music  like  that  of  the  sobbing 
seas,  or  of  the  whispering  winds  and  falling  waters,  the 
wild  music  which  is  heard  by  mountain  streams  pr  in  the 
leafy  woods  of  summer.  The  most  perfect  prose  composi¬ 
tion,  while  it  will  be  devoid  of  the  complex  harmony  of 
verse,  and  of  everything  that  may  suggest  the  idea  of 
rhyme,  will  yet  no  less  than  poetry  have  its  gentle  and 
equable,  its  impetuous  and  rapid  flow;  it  will  take  the  ear 
prisoner  by  its  full  and  majestic  harmonies  and  its  abrupt 
transitions,  as  well  as  by  its  impressive  pauses,  and  its 
grateful,  though  not  regularly-recurring  cadence.  Now 
since  all  men,  whether  educated  or  uneducated,  are  so 
constituted  as  to  enjoy  this  excellence,  which,  by  giving 
pleasure,  aids  the  attention,  stimulates  the  memory,  and 
facilitates  the  admission  of  argument,  who  does  not  see 
that  the  orator  who  fails  to  avail  himself  of  this  aid, 
neglects  one  of  the  most  powerful  and  legitimate  instru¬ 
ments  of  his  art? 

The  practice  of  storing  the  mind  with  choice  passages 


THE  ORATOR’S  HELPS. 


165 


•  from  the  best  prose  writers  and  poets,  and  thus  flavoring 
it  with  the  essence  of  good  literatures,  is  one  which  is 
commanded  both  by  the  best  teachers  and  by  the  example 
of  some  of  the  most  celebrated  orators,  who  have  adopted 
it  with  signal  success.  Dr.  King,  author  of  “  Anecdotes 
of  My  Own  Time  ”  (published  in  1760),  states  that,  in  order 
that  his  pupils  might  acquire  the  art  of  speaking  with 
correctness  and  facility,  he  used  to  advise  them  to  get  by 
heart  a  page  of  some  English  classic,  and  the  method,  he 
says,  was  often  attended  with  complete  success.  Chry¬ 
sostom  did  not  begin  to  preach  till  he  had  enriched  his 
mind  with  the  spoils  of  classic  learning.  William  Pitt-, 
in  his  youth,  read  the  poets,  Greek,  Latin  and  English, 
with  the  closest  attention,  and  deposited  in  the  cells  of 
his  memory  many  fine  passages,  which,  as  we  have  already 
seen,  he  afterward  wove  into  his  speeches  in  the  happiest 
manner,  and  with  the  most  telling  effect.  By  his  father’s 
advice  he  read  and  re-read  Barrow’s  sermons,  to  secure 
copiousness  of  language;  and  the  finest  parts  of  Shaks- 
peare  he  had  by  heart.  Fox  began  early  to  steep  his 
mind  in  classic  literature,  and  never  ceased  to  linger  lov¬ 
ingly  over  the  pages  of  Homer,  Euripides,  Virgil,  and 
Ovid,  till  the  day  of  his  death.  He  was  very  fond  of  the 
Odyssey,  and  also  of  Euripides,  who,  among  the  Greek 
dramatists,  seems  to  have  been  his  favorite.  He  declares 
that  of  all  poets  this  most  argumentative  dramatist  ap¬ 
pears  to  him,  “  without  exception,  the  most  useful  for  a 
public  speaker.”  Virgil  was  the  Latin  poet  whom  he 
most  earnestly  and  fondly  studied;  and  among  the  Italians, 
Ariosto,  whom  he  preferred  to  Tasso,  for  the  luxuriance  of 
his  imagery  and  the  grand  sweep  of  his  imagination. 
In  giving  advice  to  others,  he  dwelt  with  peculiar  em- 


1 66 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


phasis  on  this  branch  of  reading.  “  I  am  of  opinion,*'  he 
says,  “  that  the  study  of  good  authors,  and  especially  of 
poets,  ought  never  to  be  imtermitted  by  any  man  who  is 
to  speak  or  write  for  the  public,  or,  indeed,  who  has  any 
occasion  to  tax  his  imagination,  whether  it  be  for  argu¬ 
ment,  for  illustration,  for  ornament,  for  sentiment,  or  for 
any  other  purpose." 

Burke’s  speeches  abound  with  poetical  gems,  especially 
from  Virgil  and  Milton.  Erskine,  who  spoke  probably  the 
finest  and  richest  English  ever  uttered  by  an  advocate, 
devoted  himself  for  two  years,  before  his  call  to  the  bar, 
to  the  study  of  literature.  He  committed  a  large  part  of 
Milton  to  memory,  and  so  familiarized  himself  with  Shaks- 
peare,  that  it  is  said  that  he  could  almost,  like  Porson, 
have  held  conversations  on  all  subjects  for  days  together 
in  the  phrases  of  the  great  English  dramatist.  It  was 
here  that  he  acquired,  not  only  his  rich  fund  of  ideas, 
but  the  fine  choice  of  words,  the  vivid  and  varied  imagery, 
that  distinguished  his  style.  Daniel  Webster  was  a  pro¬ 
found  student  of  a  few  great  poets,  especially  the  two 
just  named,  and  in  his  reply  to  Hayne  brief  passages  from 
both  are  introduced  with  signal  felicity  and  effect.  Will¬ 
iam  Pinkney  owed  his  intellectual  affluence  and  his  pol¬ 
ished  style  to  a  similar  cause.  From  his  youth  he  made 
it  a  rule  never  to  see  a  fine  idea  without  committing  it 
to  memory.  Rufus  CJiqate  says  the  result  of  this  practice 
was  “  the  most  splendid  and  powerful  English  spoken 
style  I  ever  heard.”  Choate  himself  drunk  deep  at  the 
fountains  not  only  of  science  and  history,  but  of  philosophy 
and  belles-lettres.  To  increase  his  command  of  language, 
his  copia  verborum ,  and  to  avoid  sinking  into  cheap  and  bald 
fluency,  as  well  as  to  give  elevation,  energy,  sonorousness 


THE  ORATOR’S  HELPS. 


167 


and  refinement  to  his  vocabulary,  he  read  aloud  daily, 
during  a  large  part  of  his  life,  a  page  or  more  from 
some  fine  English  author.  He  was  a  profound  student 
of  words,  and  made  all  the  realms  of  literature  tributary 
to  his  vocabulary.  “  In  literature,”  he  used  to  say,  “  you 
find  ideas.  There  one  should  daily  replenish  his  stock. 
The  whole  range  of  polite  literature  should  be  vexed  for 
thoughts/’  Literature,  again,  he  contended,  was  neces¬ 
sary  to  get  intellectual  enthusiasm.  “  All  the  discipline 
and  customs  of  social  life,  in  our  time,  tend  to  crush  emo¬ 
tion  and  feeling.  Literature  alone  is  brimful  of  feeling.” 

Bossuet  owed  the  kingly  splendor  of  his  style  largely  to 
classical  studies.  The  great  exemplars  of  Greece  and  Rome 
were  always  before  his  eyes.  From  the  freshness  and  pic¬ 
turesqueness  of  Homer,  the  indignant  brevity  of  Tacitus,  and 
the  serried  strength  of  Thucydides,  he  drew  that  vigor  of 
style,  which,  when  enriched  by  the  sublime  imagery  of  the 
Prophets  and  the  tender  pathos  of  the  Evangelists,  placed 
him  among  the  first  of  Christian  orators.  The  “  Iliad  ”  and 
“Odyssey  ”  he  had  thumbed  till  he  knew  them  nearly  all  by 
heart.  His  passion  for  Homer,  whom  he  always  called  “  di¬ 
vine,”  was  so  great,  that  he  recited  his  verses  in  his  sleep. 
It  was,  however,  to  the  Old  Testament,  chiefly, —  to  Isaiah, 
with  his  unsurpassed  sublimity, —  to  Jeremiah,  with  his  in¬ 
tense  pathos, —  to  Ezekiel,  with  his  gorgeous  coloring, —  to 
Daniel,  and  the  other  lyrical  poets  of  the  Bible,  who  have 
never  been  surpassed  as  singers,  or  as  interpreters  of  the 
human  heart  and  prophets  of  the  conscience, —  that  he  was 
chiefly  indebted  for  his  inspiration.  Fisher  Ames  was  also 
a  profound  student  of  the  Scriptures,  especially  the  Old 
Testament,  with  whose  ideas  and  images  his  mind  was 
deeply  imbued, —  an  example  which  cannot  be  too  earnestly 


168 


ORATORY  ANJ)  ORATORS. 


commended  to  every  public  speaker,  since  the  Bible,  being 
at  once  the  most  human  and  the  most  divine  of  books,  is 
better  fitted  than  any  other  to  move  the  common  heart  of 
humanity.  One  of  the  greatest  oratorical  successes  of 
Richard  Lalor  Sheil  was  achieved  at  a  great  popular  meet¬ 
ing,  by  taking  the  first  chapter  of  Exodus  for  his  theme, 
and  quoting,  with  the  Bible  in  his  hand,  “  with  a  solemnity 
and  effect  electrical  on  the  sympathies  of  a  religious  and 
enthusiastic  people,  the  words  of  the  inspired  writer,  and 
founding  on  them  an  impassioned  appeal  to  his  countrymen 
to  persevere  in  their  career, —  to  press  onward  to  the  goal 
appointed  for  them,  heedless  of  the  fears  of  the  timid  or 
the  suggestions  of  the  compromising.” 

Along  with  the  reading  of  the  best  and  most  idiomatic 
English  authors,  the  practice  of  translation  will  also  be 
found  invaluable  to  the  young  orator.  It  is  one  of  the  best 
keys  with  which  to  unlock  the  treasures  of  his  own  tongue. 
In  hunting  for  fit  words  for  foreign  idioms,  and  felicities  of 
expression  to  match  the  felicities  of  the  original,  he  will  be 
at  the  same  time  enriching  his  vocabulary  and  taking  a 
lesson  in  extempore  speech.  In  one  respect  this  practice  is 
preferable  to  original  composition,  for  it  gives  a  clew  to 
niceties  and  elegancies  of  diction  which  the  translator 
would  neither  be  iikely  to  hit  upon  himself,  nor  to  find  in 
any  English  writer,  and  at  the  same  time  it  saves  him  from 
the  servility  of  being  a  copyist.  He  has  a  model  before 
him,  of  which  he  is  to  catch  and  reproduce  the  life  and 
spirit,  instead  of  making  a  cold  and  mechanical  copy;  he 
paints  a  similar  picture,  but  with  different  pigments;  and 
thus  his  pride  of  originality  is  gratified,  while  he  is  not 
compelled  to  rely  on  his  own  narrow  resources. 

We  are  aware  that  there  is  a  growing  distaste  to-day, 


THE  ORATOR’S  HELPS. 


169 


especially  in  the  West,  for  the  study  of  the  dead  languages; 
but  we  are  persuaded  by  much  experience  and  observation, 
that  the  study  is  worth  all  the  time  and  toil  it  costs,  simply 
on  account  of  the  command  it  gives  of  language.  Who  can 
estimate  the  facility  of  expression,  to  say  nothing  of  the  in¬ 
tellectual  discipline  and  the  acquisition  of  new  ideas,  which 
must  accrue  from  this  constant  wrestling  with  the  thoughts 
of  the  great  writers  of  antiquity  in  order  to  understand 
and  translate  them?  Could  any  better  or  more  ingenious 
contrivance  be  devised  to  form  an  artist  in  words, —  to  give 
one  a  command  of  “  thought’s  indispensable  tool,”  lan¬ 
guage, —  than  this  perpetual  comparison  of  the  terms  and 
idioms  of  two  tongues,  to  discover  those  that  are  equivalent; 
this  incessant  weighing  and  measuring  of  phrases,  to  find 
which  will  give  the  exact  shade,  or,  at  least,  the  nearest  ap¬ 
proach  to  the  divine  beauty,  of  the  original?  Above  all, 
what  aptitude  for  extempore  speech  must  result  from  this 
practice,  pursued  for  years,  in  the  decomposition  and  re¬ 
composition  of  sentences, —  of  combining  and  recombining 
their  separate  words  in  all  possible  ways,  so  as  to  hit  upon 
the  arrangement  which  will  at  once  convey  the  thought 
most  perfectly,  and  at  the  same  time  give  the  most  ex¬ 
quisite  delight  to  the  ear, —  and,  again,  of  balancing  one 
sentence  against  another,  in  order,  by  a  proper  mixture  of 
long  ones  with  short,  periodic  with  loose,  to  give  to  the 
whole  that  unity,  measure  and  harmony,  which  will  not 
only  render  it  luminous  with  meaning,  but  make  it  sink 
deeply  and  linger  long  in  the  mind? 

There  is  no  doubt  that  some  of  the  most  eloquent 
speakers  of  ancient  and  modern  times  have  acquired 
their  magical  command  ok  words  in  this  way.  Cicero 

thus  stocked  his  vocabulary  from  the  Greek.  Lord  Ches- 
8 


170 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


terfield,  one  of  the  most  elegant  and  polished  talkers  and 
orators  of  Europe,  translated  much  both  from  English 
into  French  and  from  French  into  English.  Owing  in 
part  to  this  practice,  a  certain  elegance  of  style  became 
habitual  to  him,  and  it  would  have  given  him  more  trou¬ 
ble,  he  says,  to  express  himself  inelegantly  than  he  had 
ever  taken  to  avoid  this  defect.  Chatham  turned  and  re¬ 
turned  the  pages  of  Demosthenes  into  English.  William 
Pitt,  his  son,  translated  for  years  aloud  to  himself  and 
to  his  tutor.  Following  Horace’s  rule: 


“  Nec  verbum  verbo  curabis  reddere  fidus 
Interpres,” 


< 


he  read  a  pretty  long  passage  in  the  original,  and  then 
turned  it  at  once  into  regular  English  sentences,  aiming 
to  give  the  ideas  with  great  exactness,  and,  at  the  same 
time,  to  express  himself  with  idiomatic  accuracy  and  ease, 
and  pausing,  when  he  was  at  a  loss,  for  the  fitting  word, 
until  it  came.  Of  course,  he  had  often  to  stop,  at  first; 
but  by  degrees  he  acquired  a  greater  mastery  and  readi¬ 
ness;  and  in  after  life  he  always  ascribed  to  this  practice 
his  extraordinary  command  of  language,  which  enabled 
him  to  give  every  idea  its  most  felicitous  expression,  and 
to  pour  out  an  unbroken  stream  of  thought,  hour  after 
hour,  without  once  hesitating  for  a  word,  or  recalling  a 
phrase,  or  sinking  for  a  moment  into  looseness  or  inac¬ 
curacy  in  the  structure  of  his  sentences.*  Lord  Mans¬ 
field,  who  in  his  youth  had  been  an  enthusiast  in  classic 
study,  and  in  whose  brain,  according  to  Cowper, 


“  Memory,  like  the  bee  that’s  fed 
From  Flora’s  balmy  store. 
The  quintessence  of  all  he  read 
Had  treasured  up  before,” 


*  Goodrich’s  “British  Eloquence,”  552. 


THE  ORATOR’S  HELPS. 


171 


turned  every  one  of  Cicero’s  orations  into  English  a  sec¬ 
ond  time. 

Lord  Brougham  was  an  enthusiastic  advocate  of  trans¬ 
lation,  and  also  of  classic  imitation  as  a  help  to  the  ora¬ 
tor.  In  a  letter  addressed  in  1823,  at  the  mature  age  of 
forty-four,  to  Macaulay’s  father,  he  says:  “I  know  from 
experience  that  nothing  is  half  so  successful  in  these 
times  (bad  though  they  be)  as  what  has  been  formed  on 
the  Greek  models.  I  use  a  very  poor  instance  in  giving 
my  own  experience;  but  I  do  assure  you  that  both  in 
courts  of  law  and  Parliament,  and  even  to  mobs,  I  have 
never  made  so  much  play  (to  use  a  very  modern  phrase) 
as  when  I  was  almost  translating  from  the  Greek.  I  com¬ 
posed  the  peroration  of  my  speech  for  the  queen,  in  the 
House  of  Lords,  after  reading  and  repeating  Demosthenes 
for  three  or  four  weeks,  and  I  composed  it  twenty  times 
over  at  least,  and  it  certainly  succeeded  in  a  very  extra¬ 
ordinary  degree,  and  far  above  any  merits  of  its  own.” 
Rufus  Choate,  too,  was  a  tireless  translator.  The-  culture 
of  expression,  he  held,  should  be  a  specific  study,  distinct 
from  the  invention  of  thought.  Translation  should  be 
practiced  for  the  double  object  of  keeping  fresh  in  the 
recollection  the  words  already  acquired,  and  to  tax  and 
torment  invention  and  discover}'  for  additional  rich  and 
expressive  terms.  Like  Keats  and  Gautier,  he  loved  words 
for  themselves, —  for  their  look,  their  aroma,  their  color, 
—  and  was  always  on  the  look-out  for  the  choicest  and 
most  picturesque  phrases.  Tacitus  was  his  chosen  author, 
and,  in  the  busiest  days  of  his  ever  busy  life,  he  would 
always  give  five  minutes,  if  no  more,  to  his  task.  One  of 
his  chief  objects  was  to  stock  his  memory  with  synonyms. 
For  every  word  he  translated  he  would  rack  his  brain 


172 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


and  search  his  books  till  he  had  found  five  or  six  corre¬ 
sponding  English  words.  He  aimed  also  to  enrich  his 
vocabulary  with  suggestive  words, —  those  that  have  a 
spell  in  them  for  the  memory  and  imagination.  He  knew 
that  sometimes  even  one  such  word,  fitly  spoken,  has  been 
sufficient  to  wither  an  antagonist,  or  to  electrify  an  au¬ 
dience.  “  You  don’t  want,”  said  he  to  a  student,  “  a 
diction  gathered  from  the  newspapers,  caught  from  the 
air,  common  and  unsuggestive;  but  you  want  one  whose 
every  word  is  full  freighted  with  suggestion  and  associ¬ 
ation,  with  beauty  and  power.”  Like  William  Pinkney,  he 
regarded  the  studv  of  dictionaries  as  a  great  fertilizer  of 
language,  and  spent  many  honysjn  conning  their  pages. 

It  is  hardly  necessary  to  say  that  one  of  the  best  helps 
to  the  acquisition  of  skill  in  oratory  is  a  profound  study  of 
the  best  specimens  of  eloquence.  As  the  young  painter  or 
sculptor  is  not  content  with  text-books  and  lectures,  but 
spends  months  or  years  in  the  galleries  of  Florence,  Rome, 
and  a  score  of  other  places,  in  order  to  learn  how  the  great 
masters  of  form  and  color  wrought  their  miracles,  so  the 
oratorical  student  should  dissect  and  analyze  the  great  mas¬ 
terpieces  of  eloquence,  and  endeavor,  so  far  as  possible,  to 
“pluck  out  the  heart  of  their  mystery,” — to  learn  the 
secret  of  their  charm.  Let  him  not  confine  himself  to  read¬ 
ing  fine  passages,  such  as  are  to  be  found  in  “Academical 
Speakers  ”  and  treatises  on  elocution,  for  the  exclusive 
reading  of  these  would  be  misleading,  and,  on  the  whole, 
more  injurious  than  helpful.  A  speech  of  the  highest 

order  will  alwavs  contain  some  of  those  electric  and  stimu- 
*/ 

lating  qualities  which  we  look  for  in  books  of  specimens; 
but  the  striking  metaphor,  the  startling  appeal,  the  biting 
sarcasm,  the  bold  invective,  the  daring  apostrophe,  which 


THE  ORATOR’S  HELPS. 


173 


characterize  these  selected  passages,  form  but  an  insignifi¬ 
cant  portion  of  a  long  discourse,  and  sometimes  they  are 
wanting  altogether  to  speeches  which  are  models  of  lumi¬ 
nous  statement  or  of  powerful  and  logical  reasoning. 

The  true  orator  does  not  strive  to  be  brilliant;  he 
seeks  only  to  convince  and  persuade, —  to  secure  a  client’s 
acquittal,  to  show  the  unsoundness  of  an  adversary’s 
principles  or  reasoning,  or  to  obtain  a  vote  for  a  certain 
measure.  It  has  been  justly  said  that  it  was  not  with 
the  decorated  hilt  of  his  sword  that  the  old  knight  cleaved 
in  twain  the  skull  of  his  enemy;  nor  was  it  the  shining 
plume  on  his  helmet  that  protected  his  own  head.  Often 
the  pith  and  marrow  of  a  speech  lie  in  no  part  which  a 
school-boy  would  choose  for  declamation,  but  in  the  ex¬ 
quisite  arrangement  of  its  arguments,  in  the  masterly 
clearness  of  its  statements,  in  the  accrescent  energy  of 
its  appeals.  It  was  said  of  Lord  Mansfield,  who  divided 
the  honors  of  oratory  in  the  House  of  Lords  with  Chat¬ 
ham,  that  he  was  “eloquent  by  his  wisdom.”  He  affected 
no  sallies  of  imagination,  or  bursts  of  passion;  but  se¬ 
cured  attention  and  assent  to  all  he  said  by  his  constant 
good  sense,  flowing  in  apt  terms  and  in  the  clearest  method. 
He  excelled,  above  all,  in  the  statement  of  a  case,  arrang¬ 
ing  the  facts  in  an  order  so  lucid,  and  with  so  nice  a 
reference  to  the  conclusions  to  be  founded  on  them,  that 
the  hearer  felt  inclined  to  be  convinced  before  he  was  in 
possession  of  the  arguments.  A  writer  who  often  heard 
George  Wood,  the  leader  of  the  New  York  Bar  some 
thirty  years  ago,  says  that  his  speech  was  as  plain  as 
that  of  a  Quaker.  The  thought  was  as  free  from  the 
refraction  of  words  as  is  the  light  of  a  planet  seen 
through  one  of  Clark’s  object-glasses. 


174 


ORATORY  A.N  D  ORATORS. 


Count'  Montalembert,  one  of  the  most  brilliant  French 
orators  of  the  present  century,  was  a  profound  student 
of  British  eloquence.  He  knew  almost  by  heart  the  prin¬ 
cipal  speeches  of  the  great  orators  of  England  and  Ire¬ 
land,  and  in  his  youth  was  wont  to  relate  with  impas¬ 
sioned  ardor  the  Parliamentary  debates  to  his  schoolmates. 
The  fiery  Grattan  and  the  splendid  contest  which  he 
maintained  against  the  Parliamentary  union  of  England 
and  Ireland,  held  a  conspicuous  place  in  his  glowing  pic¬ 
tures.  But  above  all,  Burke  was  the  hero  of  his  idolatry, 
and  the  portrait  of  the  great  Irishman  hung  in  the 
Count’s  study  till  the  last  day  of  his  life.  The  speeches 
against  the  American  War  and  Warren  Hastings, —  and 
even  those  in  which  Burke  vehemently  denounced  the 
French  Revolution,  were  all  analyzed  or  repeated  by  Mon¬ 
talembert  to  an  admiring  and  electrified  audience. 

Again,  besides  studying  the  masterpieces  of  eloquence 
in  print,  the  oratorical  aspirant  should  listen  to  the  best 
living  speakers.  As  the  young  bird,  that  is  learning  to 
fly,  watches  its  parents,  and  with  its  eyes  fixed  on  them, 
spreads  its  unsteady  wings,  follows  in  their  path,  and 
copies  their  motions,  so  the  young  man  who  would  master 
the  art  of  oratory,  should  watch  closely  the  veteran  prac¬ 
titioners  of  the  art,  and  assiduously  note  and  imitate  their 
best  methods,  till,  gaining  confidence  in  the  strength  of  his 
pinions,  he  may  venture  to  cease  circling  about  his  nest, 
and  boldly  essay  the  eagle  flights  of  eloquence.  It  was 
thus,  in  part,  that  Grattan’s  oratorical  genius  was  trained 
and  directed.  Going  in  his  youth  to  London,  he  was 
attracted  to  the  debates  in  Parliament  by  the  eloquence 
of  Lord  Chatham,  which  acted  with  such  a  spell  upon  his 
mind  as  henceforth  to  fix  his  destiny.  To  emulate  the 


THE  ORATOR’S  HELPS. 


175 


fervid  and  electric  oratory  of  that  great  leader,  repro¬ 
ducing  his  lofty  conceptions  in  new  and  original  forms, — 
for  he  was  no  servile  copyist, —  was  henceforth  the  object 
of  his  greatest  efforts  and  of  his  most  fervent  aspirations. 
The  genius  of  Rufus  Choate,  original  and  distinctive  as 
it  unquestionably  was,  was  fired  in  a  great  degree  by 
listening,  when  he  was  a  law-student  at  Washington,  to 
the  fervid  eloquence  of  William  Pinkney,  whom  he  not 
a  little  resembled. 

Among  all  the  helps  of  the  orator,  there  is  no  auxiliary 
which  he  may  employ  with  greater  advantage  than  the 
pen.  Cicero  calls  it  optimus  et  praestantissimus  dicendi 
effector  ac  magister.  He  says  that  in  writing  on  a  sub¬ 
ject  we  give  more  than  usual  attention  to  it,  and  thus 
many  things  are  suggested  to  us  of  which  we  should 
otherwise  never  have  thought.  We  choose  the  best  words, 
and  arrange  them  in  the  best  order,  and  a  habit  is  thus 
formed  of  employing  always  the  best  language;  so  that 
as  a  boat,  when  the  rowers  rest  upon  their  oars,  will 
continue  to  move  by  the  impulse  previously  given,  so  a 
speaker  who  has  been  accustomed  to  use  his  pen,  will, 
when  he  is  obliged  to  utter  anything  extempore,  be  apt 
to  do  it  with  the  same  grace  and  finish  as  if  it  had  been 
previously  composed.  There  can  be  no  doubt  that  the 
frequent  use  of  the  pen  helps  to  give  not  only  clearness 
and  precision,  but  force  and  vividness,  to  the  speaker’s  - 
thought.  It  is  not  enough  that  the  speaker's  theme  has 
been  profoundly  meditated  and  digested;  besides  the  cogi- 
tatio  et  commentatio  upon  which  Cicero  insists,  there  should 
be  the  assidua  ac  diligens  scriptura.  In  this  way,  and  in 
this  way  only,  can  the  speaker  acquire  and  perpetuate  that 
command  and  general  ^accuracy  of  language, —  that  copious- 


176  ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 

ness  in. the  diction,  precision  in  the  selection  of  terms,  and 
close  articulation  in  the  construction, —  which  alone  can 
insure  the  highest  excellence.  By  this  means  he  will  not 
only  make  luminous  ideas  which,  when  shut  up  in  the 
mind,  are  apt  to  preserve  a  certain  haziness,  but  he  will 
open  richer  veins  of  thought,  and,  above  all,  will  be  able 
to  lay  up  in  his  memory  a  supply  of  weapons  ready  for  any 
emergency.  Important  sentences  and  passages  thus  care¬ 
fully  wrought  out  beforehand  in  the  laboratory  of  thought, 
can  hardly  fail,  even  if  not  delivered  exactly  verbatim ,  of 
being  more  effective  ordinarily  than  those  which  are 
thrown  off1  hastily  in  the  hurry  of  debate,  when  there  is  no 
time  to  grope  about  for  the  most  apt  and  telling  words, 
and  the  expression  must  be  effected  at  the  first  stroke. 

In  thus  commending  the  use  of  the  pen,  we  would  not 
counsel  a  speaker,  except  in  the  case  of  a  eulogy  or  other 
formal  address,  to  write  out  the  whole  of  a  speech,  and 
“  learn  it  by  heart,”  even  to  every  little  beggarly  parti¬ 
cle.  No  doubt  there  have  been  orators  who  have  done 
this  with  considerable  success.  Edward  Everett  adopted 
this  method;  but  though  years  of  practice  and  an. unfail¬ 
ing  memory  enabled  him  to  give  many  passages  of  what 
he  had  thus  “conned  and  learned  by  rote,”  in  the  free, 
off-hand  manner  of  impromptu  address,  yet  there  was  al¬ 
ways  visible,  even  in  his  happiest  efforts,  a  certain  air  of 
constraint  and  artificiality.  It  was  rarely  that  the  most 
impassioned  burst  of  oratory  was  delivered  with  such  a 
perfection  of  concealed  art,  as  not  to  excite  a  suspicion 
in  the  hearer’s  mind,  that,  like  Sheridan’s  cut  and  dry 
exclamation  of  “Good  God!  Mr.  Speaker,”  it  had  not 
been  carefully  studied  before-hand.  But  if  this  master  of 
memorized  speech  did  not  succeed  in  cheating  his  hearers, 


THE  ORATOR'S  HELPS. 


177 


still  more  signal  has  been  the  failure  of  his  disciples, 
most  of  whom  have  succeeded  only  in  reproducing  his 
frigidity  and  monotonous  elegance,  without  being  able  to 
impart  to  their  recitations  the  air  of  sudden  suggestion 
which  he  was  occasionally  so  fortunate  as  to  command. 
Tacitus  says,  as  truly  as  tersely,  that  magna  eloquentia , 
siout  flamma,  materia  alitur ,  et  motibus  excitatur ,  et  urendo 
darescit , —  which  William  Pitt  translated:  “It  is  with 
eloquence  as  with  a  flame.  It  requires  fuel  to  feed  it, 
motion  to  excite  it,  and  it  brightens  as  it  burns."  The 
practice  of  memoriter  speaking  has,  unquestionably,  some 
advantages,  and  the  fact  that  it  was  the  favorite  method 
of  the  ancient  orators  goes  far  to  commend  it.  If  the 
speaker  has  a  tenacious  memory,  and  can  commit  a  speech 
rapidly,  he  is  relieved  of  all  anxiety  about  his  thought 
and  style,  and  is  left  free  to  throw  all  his  force  into  the 
proper  work  of  delivery.  Having  the  whole  speech  in 
his  mind,  he  knows  the  relations  of  the  several  parts  to 
each  other,  and  is  thus  “  able  to  graduate  the  degrees  of 
force,  pitch,  and  rapidity  of  movement  appropriately  to 
every  part;  to  return  to  the  key-note  and  initial  movement 
as  often  as  he  may  be  required,  and  to  manage  his  pauses 
and  transitions  so  as  to  produce  their  true  and  proper 
effect.1’  On  the  other  hand,  speaking  from  memory,  in 
most  cases,  not  only  involves  a  great  amount  of  disagree¬ 
able  drudgery,  and  almost  necessitates  a  break-down  when, 
from  interruption  or  sudden  nervousness,  a  passage  which 
forms  a  necessary  link  in  the  chain  is  forgotten,  but  it 
prevents  the  speaker  from  feeling  the  pulse  of  his  audi¬ 
ence,  catching  inspiration  from  their  looks  or  applause, 
meeting  objections  with  which  he  is  interrupted,  and  vary¬ 
ing  his  address  with  the  varying  exigences  of  the  hour. 


178 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


But  while  speeches  should  not,  except  in  rare  cases, 
be  written  out  and  memorized  entire,  yet  important  pas¬ 
sages,  we  think,  should  be;  and,  in  every  case  where  one 
is  to  speak  on  an  important  occasion,  he  should  make 
himself  so  completely  master  of  his  theme  by  patient 
thought  and  frequent  use  of  the  pen,  that  the  substance 
and  the  method,  the  matter  and  the  order,  of  his  ideas 
shall  be  perfectly  familiar  to  him.  Nor  is  it  enough 
that  he  possess  himself  of  sharply  defined  thoughts,  and 

m 

the  precise  order  of  their  delivery;  he  must  brood  over 
them  hour  by  hour  till  “  the  fire  burns  ”  and  the  mind 
glows  with  them, —  till  riot  6nly  the  arguments  and  illus¬ 
trations  have  been  supplied  to  the  memory,  but  the  most 
felicitous  terms,  the  most  vivid,  pregnant,  and  salient 
phrases,  have  been  suggested,  which  he  will  recall,  to  an 
extent  that  will  surprise  him,  by  the  matter  in  which 
they  are  imbedded,  and  with  which  they"  are  connected  by 
the  laws  of  association.  Proceeding  in  this  way,  he  will 
unite,  in  a  great  measure,  the  advantages  of  the  written 
and  the  spoken  styles.  Avoiding  the  miserable  bondage 
of  the  speaker  who  servilely  adheres  to  manuscript, —  a 
procedure  which  produces,  where  the  effort  of  memory 
lias  not  been  perfect,  a  feeling  of  constraint  and  frigidity 
in  the  delivery,  and,  where  it  has  been  perfect,  an  ap¬ 
pearance  of  artificiality  in  the  composition, —  he  will  weave 
into  his  discourse  the  passages  which  he  has  polished  to 
the  last  degree  of  art,  and  he  will  introduce  also  anything 
that  occurs  during  the  inspiration  of  delivery.  He  will 
have  all  the  electrical  power,  the  freshness,  fire,  and  fervor 
of  the  orator  who  does  not  write,  and  at  the  same  time 
much  of  the  condensation,  elegance,  and  exquisite  finish  of 
him  who  coins  his  phrases  in  the  deliberation  of  his  study. 


THE  ORATOR’S  HELPS. 


179 


There  is  no  doubt  that,  in  point  of  fact,  almost 
every  great  orator  writes  passages  which  he  commits  to 
memory.  Sheridan  prepared  his  impromptus  beforehand 
to  an  extent  which  seems  incredible  to  one  not  familiar 
with  his  habits.  Indeed,  one  of  the  chief  defects  of  his 
speeches  was  the  lack  of  callida  junctura , — the  transitions 
from  his  carefully-conned  declamation  to  his  extempore 
statements  being  perceptible  to  everybody.  As  he  was 
unable  to  keep  for  an  instant  on  the  wing,  there  was  no 
gradation,  and  he  suddenly  dropped  from  tropes  and  rliet- 
'  oric  into  a  style  that  was  strangely  bald  and  lax.  One 
of  the  secrets  of  Canning’s  elegance  and  polish  of  style 
was  his  constant  practice  of  writing  in  conjunction  with 
extemporaneous  speech.  On  every  important  debate  “  he 
wrote  much  beforehand,  and  composed  more  in  his  mind, 
which  flowed  forth  spontaneously,  and  mingled  with  the 
current  of  his  thoughts,  in  all  the  fervor  of  the  most 
prolonged  and  excited  discussion.  Hence  while  he  had 
great  ease  and  variety,  he  never  fell  into  that  negligence 
and  looseness  of  style  which  we  always  find  in  a  purely 
extemporaneous  speaker.”  Many  of  Curran’s  winged  pas¬ 
sages,  which  seem  born  of  the  inspiration  of  the  moment, 
were  elaborated  in  the  closet.  Like  Canning,  he  dove¬ 
tailed  them  so  skillfully  with  the  others  as  to  make  them 
appear  impromptu.  “  My  dear  fellow,”  said  he  to  Phil¬ 
lips,  “  the  day  of  inspiration  has  gone  by.  Everything  I 
ever  said,  which  was  worth  remembering, —  my  de  bene 
esses ,  my  white  horses,  as  I  call  them, —  were  all  care¬ 
fully  prepared.”  Some  of  the  most  electric  passages  of 
Brougham’s  speeches  were  written  and  rewritten  again 
and  again.  Indeed,  he  expressly  declares  that  the  perfec¬ 
tion  of  public  speaking  consists  in  introducing  a  prepared 


180 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


passage  with  effect.  “  It  is  worthy  of  note,”  he  says,  “  for 
the  use  of  the  student  in  rhetoric,  that  Erskine  wrote  down 
word  for  word  the  passage  about  the  savage  and  his  bundle 
of  sticks.  His  mind  having  acquired  a  certain  excitement 
and  elevation,  and  received  an  impetus  from  the  tone  and 
quality  of  the  matured  and  premeditated  composition,  re¬ 
tained  that*  impetus  after  the  impelling  cause  had  died 
away.” 

The  practice  of  Plunket,  so  far  as  it  went,  was  admira¬ 
ble;  he  used,  it  is  said,  to  prepare  a  few  keen,  epigram¬ 
matic,  or  passionate  sentences,  in  which  to  concentrate  the 
effect  of  extemporaneous  passages  that  led  up  to  them. 
Sheil,  who  spoke  always  with  an  air  of  passion  and  aban¬ 
donment,  which  nothing,  apparently,  but  the  enthusiasm 
of  the  moment  could  inspire,  elaborated  the  great  pas¬ 
sages  of  his  speeches  with  the  utmost  nicety  and  finish. 
They  were  hewn,  chiselled,  and  polished  with  all  the  ten¬ 
der  care  of  a  sculptor,  rehearsed  with  all  their  possible 
effects,  and  kept  in  reserve  till  the  critical  moment  when, 
by  contrast  with  other  parts,  they  would  shine  forth  most 
resplendently.  Montalembert  polished  and  repolished  some 
parts  of  his  orations,  which  seemed  impromptu,  with  cease¬ 
less  care.*  Bossuet,  on  the  other  hand,  disliked  writing, 
which  only  distracted  him.  He  dashed  down  rapidly  on 
paper,  texts,  citations,  and  arguments  suitable  to  the  theme 
and  the  occasion;  meditated  deeply  on  this  rough  docu¬ 
ment,  in  the  morning  of  the  day  he  was  to  preach;  and 
thus  developing  his  discourse  in  his  mind,  he  passed  men- 

*  Sainte-Beuve,  speaking  of  his  combination  of  the  written  with  the  impro¬ 
vised  parts  of  his  speeches,  says:  “  Le  tout  est  enveloppe  dans  une  sorte  de  cir¬ 
culation  vive  qui  ne  laisse  apercevoir  aucun  intervalle,  et  qui  fait  que  les  jets  du 
moment,  les  pensees  meditees  ou  nottfs,  les  morceaux  tout  faits,  se  rejoignent, 
s’enchainent  avec  souplesse,  et  se  meuvent  comme  les  membres  d’un  meme 
corps.” 


THE  ORATOR’S  HELPS. 


181 


tally  through  his  sermon  two  or  three  times,  reading  the 
paper  before  him,  and  altering  and  improving,  as  though 
the  whole  had  been  written.  A  famous  temperance  lec¬ 
turer  used  to  say  of  his  practice  that  the  main  body  of  his 
addresses  was  in  the  language  of  the  moment,  but  that 
“special  howls1'  were  carefully  prepared. 

Macaulay  is  said  to  have  declared  that  he  dared  not 
write  a  speech  that  he  was  to  deliver,  on  account  of  the 
danger  of  falling  into  the  style  of  an  essay,  which  he 
deemed  altogether  unfit  for  a  public  speech.  It  is  notori¬ 
ous,  however,  that  in  his  parliamentary  efforts  he  gener¬ 
ally  “talked  like  a  book”;  and,  indeed,  some  of  his  speeches 
are  but  reproductions  of  his  masterly  essays.  His  speech 
in  1830,  on  The  Civil  Disabilities  of  the  Jews,  is  the  le¬ 
gitimate  offspring  of  the  Essay  of  1829.  That  in  early 
life  he  sometimes  wrote  and  conned  his  elocjuent  periods 
is  evident  from  the  following  incident  related  in  an  Eng¬ 
lish  work  published  about  twenty  years  ago:  At  the  an¬ 
nual  anti-slavery  meeting  in  1826,  Mr.  Macaulay  delivered 
the  first  of  the  brilliant  orations  which  gave  him  fame 
as  a  public  speaker.  At  its  close  a  gentleman  asked  him 
to  furnish  a  report  of  it  for  the  London  “  Morning  Chroni¬ 
cle,”  saying  that  he  spoke  so  rapidty,  and  the  excellence 
of  the  speech  depended  so  much  on  the  collocation  of  the 
words,  that  only  its  author  could  do  it  justice  in  a  re¬ 
port.  At  first,  Mr.  Macaulay  hesitated;  but,  on  being 
pressed,  said  that  he  would  think  of  it.  On  going  to 
the  office  of  the  “  Chronicle  ”  in  the  evening,  the  writer 
found,  he  says,  a  large  packet  containing  a  verbatim  re¬ 
port  of  the  speech  as  spoken.  The  brilliant  passages  were 
marked  in  pencil,  and  the  whole  manuscript  had  been 
evidently  well  thumbed  over, —  showing  that  no  school- 


182 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


boy  had  ever  more  laboriously  and  faithfully  committed  to 
memory  his  speech  in  “  Enfield's  Speaker,”  than  had  the 
great  historian  of  the  age  “  learned  by  heart  ”  his  first 
public  oration.  As  he  advanced  in  years,  this  habit  grew 
upon  him  so  strongly,  that  at  last  it  was  a  positive 
pain  and  embarrassment  to  him  to  be  called  upon  to 
speak  even  a  dozen  sentences  off-hand.  Long  and  careful 
preparation  was  essential  to  him;  and,  even  with  prep¬ 
aration,  he  was  nervous,  anxious,  uneasy,  until  he  had 
poured  out  his  cogitations.  “  On  the  nights,  too,  on  which 
he  intended  to  speak,  a  child  might  have  discerned  the 
fact.  He  sat  with  his  arms  crossed;  his  head  was  fre¬ 
quently  thrown  back,  as  if  he  were  attentively  surveying 
the  roof;  and  though  the  Speaker  of  the  House  of  Com¬ 
mons  was  a  perfectly  impartial  man,  and  filled  his  office 
to  the  satisfaction  of  every  member,  one  could  scarcely 
doubt  that  he  often  relieved  a  poet  and  an  orator  from 
his  uneasiness  by  naming  Mr.  Macaulay  at  an  early  period 
of  the  evening.” 

We  have  heard  from  the  lips  of  the  late  Judge  Story 
a  similar  and  more  striking  anecdote  of  the  celebrated 
American  advocate,  William  Pinkney.*  Though  a  con¬ 
summate  master  of  the  arts  of  extempore  speaking,  he 
often  wrote  out  the  principal  parts  of  his  speeches,  in 
order  to  preserve  a  correct  and  polished  diction.  He  be¬ 
lieved,  with  the  great  orators  of  antiquity,  that  this  prac¬ 
tice  is  absolutely  necessary,  if  one  would  acquire  and 
preserve  a  style  at  once  correct  and  graceful  in  public 
speaking,  which  otherwise  is  apt  to  degenerate  into  col¬ 
loquial  negligence  and  tedious  verbosity.  Alexander  Ham¬ 
ilton,  in  a  great  libel  cause  which  he  argued,  wrote  out 

*  See  the  author’s  “  Hours  with  Men  and  Books,”  pp.  105-7,  for  this  anecdote. 


THE  ORATOR’S  HELPS. 


183 


his  argument  the  night  before,  and  then  tore  it  up.  “Al¬ 
ways  prepare,  investigate,  compose  a  speech,'1  said  Rufus 
Choate  to  a  student,  “pen  in  hand.  Webster  always 
wrote  when  he  could  get  a  chance.”  The  reasons  which 
Mr.  Choate  assigned  for  this  practice,  were  that  only  in 
this  way  can  a  speaker  be  sure  that  he  had  got  to  the 
bottom  of  his  subject,  or  have  the  confidence  and  ease 
flowing  from  the  certainty  that  he  cannot  break  down. 
The  written  matter,  he  added,  “  must  be  well  memorized.” 
He  himself  acted  on  this  rule.  In  the  court-room  he 
always  spoke  before  a  pile  of  manuscript,  covered  with 
his  cabalistic  “  pot-hooks,”  to  which,  however,  he  only  oc¬ 
casionally  referred.*  The  night  before  addressing  a  jury, 
he  would  sometimes  write  all  night.  It  is  hardly  neces¬ 
sary  to  say  that  in  all  cases  where  carefully  finished 
passages  are  introduced  into  an  extempore  speech,  it  is  a 
part  of  the  speaker’s  art,  and  one  that  requires  the  nicest 
skill,  to  blend  the  impromptu  and  the  prepared  parts  in¬ 
to  an  indistinguishable  whole.  Any  clumsiness  that  be¬ 
trays  the  joints, —  that  reveals  the  secret  of  the  “purple 
patches,” — will  destroy  the  charm.  An  English  writer 
advises  the  speaker,  who  would  conceal  his  art  in  such 

*In  his  journal,  May,  1843,  Mr.  Choate  wrote:  “I  am  not  to  forget  that  I 
am,  and  must  be,  if  I  would  live,  a  student  of  forensic  rhetoric.  ...  A  wide 
and  anxious  survey  of  that  art  and  that  science  teaches  me  that  careful,  con¬ 
stant  writing  is  the  parent  of  ripe  speech.  It  has  no  other.  But  that  writing 
must  always  be  rhetorical  writing,  that  is,  such  as  might  in  some  parts  of 
some  speech  be  uttered  to  a  listening  audience.  It  is  to  be  composed  as  in 
and  for  the  presence  of  an  audience.  So  it  is  to  he  intelligible,  perspicuous, 
pointed,  terse,  with  image,  epithet,  turn,  advancing  and  impulsive,  full  of 
generalizations ,  maxims ,  illustrating  the  sayings  of  the  wise.”  In  every  part 
of  study.  Mr.  Choate  relied  greatly  on  the  pen,  which  he  regarded  as  the  cor¬ 
rector  of  vagueness  of  thought  and  expression.  “In  translating,”  says  Mr, 
E.  G.  Parker,  in  his  “Reminiscences,”  “in  mastering  a  difficult  book,  in  pre 
paring  his  arguments,  in  collecting  his  evidence,  he  was  always  armed  with  that, 
to  him,  potent  weapon.” 


184 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


cases,  to  connect  the  elaborated  part  of  his  speech  with 
what  has  incidentally  fallen  in  debate;  “when  you  come 
to  that  premeditated  and  finest  part,  hesitate  and  appear 
to  boggle;  catch  at  some  expression  that  shall  fall  short 
of  your  idea,  and  then  seem  to  hit  at  last  upon  the  true 
thing.  This  has  always  an  extraordinary  effect,  and  gives 
the  air  of  extempore  genius  to  what  you  say.”*  Lord 
Brougham  appears  to  have  acted,  at  times,  with  imper¬ 
fect  success,  on  a  hint  like  this.  “  When  he  seemed  to 
pause  in  search  of  thoughts  or  words,”  says  Lord  Gran¬ 
ville,  “  we  knew  that  he  had  a  sentence  ready  cut  and 
dried.” 

It  may  be  objected, —  indeed,  it  often  has  been  objected 
to  speeches  thus  carefully  prepared, —  that  they  are  too 
elaborate;  that  they  are  likely  to  lack  naturalness  and 
simplicity;  that,  in  short,  they  smell  of  the  midnight 
oil.  If  such,  in  any  case,  is  the  effect  of  preparation, — 
if  the  orator,  in  the  effort  to  perfect  his  speech,  is  tempted 
to  aim  merely  at  tickling  the  ear,  and  he  thus,  by  intro¬ 
ducing  beauties  of  thought  or  expression  which  have  no 
relation  to  the  subject,  and  no  tendency  to  facilitate  its 
comprehension,  draws  attention  not  to  his  theme  but  to 
himself  or  his  rhetorical  skill, —  the  objection  is,  indeed, 
fatal.  The  best  style,  written  or  spoken,  is  not  like  a 
painted  window  which  transmits  the  light  of  day  tinged 
with  a  hundred  hues,  and  diverts  the  attention  from  its 
proper  use  to  the  pomp  and  splendor  of  the  artist’s  doing; 
it  is  a  transparent,  colorless  medium,  which  simply  lets 
the  thought  be  seen,  without  suggesting  a  thought  about 
the  medium  itself.  But  if  the  elaboration,  however  great, 

*  “  Parliamentary  Logic,”  by  the  Right  Hon.  William  Gerard  Hamilton, 
London,  1798. 


185 


THE  ORATOR’S  HELPS. 

be  for  legitimate  ends, —  if  the  energy  and  harmony,  the 
vivid  images,  the  “  apt  words  in  apt  places,”  which  result 
from  it,  aid  attention,  and  facilitate  the  admission  of  argu¬ 
ment,  at  the  same  time  that  they  delight  the  hearer,  the 
delight  being  aimed  at  only  for  an  ulterior  and  higher 
purpose, —  then  it  is  hardly  possible  for  the  speaker  to 
take  too  much  pains.  The  utmost  elaboration  of  this 
kind  is  not  only  pardonable  but  praiseworthy.  Natural¬ 
ness  and  simplicity,  the  last  and  most  excellent  graces 
which  can  belong  to  a  speaker,  so  far  from  being  opposed 
to  it',  can  be  attained  in  no  other  way.  The  utmost  art, 
—  art  in  the  sense  of  a  deliberate  effort  to  adapt  the 
means  to  the  ends,  and  to  do  what  is  to  be  done  in  the 
most  perfect  manner, —  is  here  the  truest  nature.* 

If  the  Prince  of  Orators,  instead  of  trusting  to  im¬ 
promptu  inspiration,  was  indefatigable  in  his  efforts  to 
prepare  himself  for  his  public  discourses,  shall  a  modern 
speaker,  of  inferior  powers,  be  forbidden  to  do  so?  That 
Demosthenes  could  speak  extemporaneously,  is  well  known; 
but  it  is  equally  well  known  that  he  never  did  so  when 
he  could  help  it;  and  so  diligent  was  his  preparation,  that 
the  very  objection  we  are  considering  was  urged  by  his 
enemies  against  his  oratory, —  that  it  smelt  of  the  lamp. 
Regarding  oratory  as  an  art,  and  as  an  art  in  which  pro¬ 
ficiency  can  come  only  by  intense  labor,  he  left  nothing  to 
chance  which  he  could  secure  by  forethought  and  skill, — 
nothing  to  the  inspiration  of  the  moment,  which  deliberate 
industry  could  make  certain.  He  knew,  doubtless,  what 
every  great  speaker, —  what  every  writer,  indeed, —  knows 
perfectly  well,  that  even  the  so-called  flashes  of  inspiration 

*  kl  They  came  to  him  too  naturally  not  to  have  been  studied,”  says  George 
Sand  of  the  vehement  words  of  one  of  her  heroes. 

8* 


186 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


are  the  reward,  not  of  the  indolent  man,  but  of  him  who 
is  usually  most  laborious  in  his  preparation.  It  is  after 
such  preparation,  due  rest  having  meanwhile  been  taken, 
that,  as  it  has  been  happily  said,  the  most  unlooked-for 
felicities,  the  happiest  thoughts  and  expressions,  often  sud¬ 
denly  flash  into  unbidden  existence  under  the  glow  of 
speaking, —  felicities  of  which,  while  in  the  act  of  prepara¬ 
tion,  the  mind  may  never  have  caught  a  glimpse.  But 
then  this  happy  excitement,  this  exaltation  of  all  the  facul¬ 
ties,  is  only  possible  to  the  mind  when  prolonged  prepara¬ 
tion  has  suggested  all  the  trains  of  thought  likely  to 
stimulate  emotion,  and  has  already  in  part  stimulated  it; 
and,  above  all,  has  insured  that  self-possession  in  the 
treatment  of  the  subject  without  which  the  boasted  “  in¬ 
spiration”  never  visits,  or  is  likely  to  visit,  the  most  elo¬ 
quent  speaker.  “It  is  preparation  which  piles  the  wood, 
and  lays  the  sacrifice,  and  then  the  celestial  fire  may 
perchance  descend.  The  entire  water  in  the  vessel  must 
have  its  whole  temperature  slowly  raised  to  the  boiling- 
point;  and  then,  and  not  till  then,  it  ‘  flashes  into  steam.’  ” 
The  habit  of  careful  and  laborious  preparation  will  no 
more  rob  the  orator  of  his  fervor  than  faithful  drilling 
robs  the  soldier  of  his  fire.  It  is  not  the  raw  volunteer, 
but  the  soldier  who  has  practiced  the  exercises  of  the 
parade-ground,  that  will  do  best  in  the  fight;  and  we  may 
add,  too,  that  the  sentences  which  have  been  carefully  knit 
together  in  the  closet  will  often  transmit  the  glow  of  pas¬ 
sion  as  the  solid  and  well-trained  phalanx  burns  with 
martial  fire,  and  hurls  itself  like  a  thunderbolt  upon  the 
enemy. 

The  question  has  been  asked:  Why  is  it  that  men  who 
have  ranked  high  as  writers,  have  so  often  miserably 


THE  ORATOR’S  HELPS. 


failed  as  speakers?  Why  is  it  that  they  wh( 
on  paper  to  roar  you  in  the  ears  of  the  grorft 
’twere  any  lion,  aggravate  their  voice  on  the 
like  a  sucking  dove?  Examples  of  this  are  so  numerous 
that  they  will  suggest  themselves  to  every  reader.  Addi¬ 
son  and  Gibbon  attempted  oratory  in  the  British  Senate 
only  to  “  fall  flat  and  shame  their  worshippers.”  The 
latter  tells  us  that  the  bad  speakers  filled  him  with  ap¬ 
prehension,  the  good  ones  with  despair.  Sir  Philip  Francis, 
who  was  so  ready  and  powerful  with  the  pen,  was  hesi¬ 
tating  and  unready  in  speech.  Pope  was  tongue-tied  in 
a  large  company,  and  Irving  was  dumb  at  dinners  given 
in  his  honor.  When  Beranger  was  elected  to  the  Na¬ 
tional  Assembly  of  France,  he  sat  one  day  under  protest, 
and  refused  to  go  again.  With  the  grace  of  La  Fontaine  and 
the  philosophic  wit  of  Voltaire,  he  was  as  shy  as  Dominie 
Sampson,  and  declared  in  a  letter  to  the  press  from  his 
garret,  that  to  address  more  than  six  persons  was  beyond 
his  power.  Cicero  was  an  exception  to  the  rule,  and  so 
in  modern  times  have  been  a  few  men  in  England  and 


France;  but  the  instances  are  too  few  to  invalidate  it. 
“  Sir  Janies  Mackintosh,”  says  Macaulay,  “  spoke  essays, 
Mr.  Fox  wrote  debates;  his  history  reads  like  a  powerful 
reply  thundered  from  the  front  Opposition-bench  at  three 
in  the  morning.”  This  statement  gives,  we  think,  even 
too  favorable  an  impression  of  Mr.  Fox’s  abilities  as  a 
writer.  So  far  is  he  from  writing  with  power,  that  all 
the  fire  of  his  genius  seems  to  be  extinguished  when  he 
takes  up  his  pen,  and  we  can  with  difficulty  believe  that 
the  fervid  orator  who  delivered  the  speech  on  the  West¬ 
minster  Scrutiny  is  the  same  man  who  wrote  the  History 
of  the  Reign  of  James  II. 


188 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


Bolingbroke  both  wrote  and  spoke  well;  but  graceful 
and  flowing  as  is  his  written  style,  it  is  not  free  from 
the  faults  which  we  are  apt  to  find  in  the  compositions 
of  one  who  declaims  on  paper.  Always  vivid  and  ani¬ 
mated,  it  sometimes  tires  the  reader  with  repetitions  and 
amplifications  to  which,  when  set  off  by  his  fine  person 
and  pleasing  intonations,  an  audience  might  listen  with 
profit  and  delight.  Brougham  was  one  of  the  giants  of 
the  senate;  but  he  wrote  as  if  he  were  speaking  from  the 
woolsack,  and  his  big  words  and  labyrinthine  sentences 
violated  the  first  laws  of  literary  composition.  Dr.  John¬ 
son  wanted  to  try  his  hand  in  the  House  of  Commons; 
but  though  -he  declared  public  speaking  to  be  a  mere 
knack,  it  is  possible  that  the  very  qualities  ^hich  made 
him  the  monarch  of  the  club- room,  and  gave  him  such 
power  with  the  pen,  would  have  prevented  his  success  as 
an  orator.  A  succession  of  vivid,  pointed,  epigrammatic  sen¬ 
tences,  which  have  a  telling  effect  in  the  pauses  or  quick 
turns  of  conversation,  do  not  make  a  speech.  Horne 
Tooke  failed  in  the  House  of  Commons,  in  spite  of  his 
tact,  talent,  self-possession,  and  long  practice  at  the  hust¬ 
ings.  Even  Mr.  Gladstone  is  no  exception  to  the  rule. 
“  Too  subtle  a  thinker  and  too  conscientious  a  mind  to 
attain  the  highest  kind  of  oratory,  the  object  of  which  is 
to  persuade  by  carrying,  as  it  were  by  storm,  the  feelings 
and  the  passions  of  the  audience,  he  is  yet  clear,  pointed, 
and  vigorous  in  debate;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  no  one 
can  deny  that  he  is  an  obscure  and  intricate  writer. 
He  seems  graceful  as  a  swan  on  the  waters  of  parlia¬ 
mentary  strife;  but  when  he  takes  up  his  pen,  he  is  like 
the  same  when  it  leaves  its  native  element  and  waddles 
awkwardly  on  the  ground.” 


THE  ORATOR’S  HELPS. 


189 


The  explanation  of  this  phenomenon  is  not  difficult. 
A  moment’s  reflection  will  show  us  that  the  eloquentia 
umbratica,  at  which  the  writer  aims,  is  an  elaborate  form 
of  beauty  which  is  unsuited  to  the  strife  of  business,  and 
the  tumult  of  a  public  assembly.  The  language  and  style 
which  are  most  impressive  in  the  drawing-room,  are  ut¬ 
terly  ineffective  upon  the  platform.  The  fine  tooling  and 
delicate  tracery  of  the  cabinet  artist  are  lost  upon  a  build¬ 
ing  of  colossal  proportions.  It  is  plain,  therefore,  that 
very  different,  even  quite  opposite,  intellectual  gifts  are 
required  to  form  a  good  writer  and  a  good  speaker. 
Abstraction  of  mind,  seclusion  from  the  din  and  tumult 
of  public  assemblies,  unwearied  patience  in  gathering  the 
materials  of  composition,  and  exquisite  taste,  that  will  be 
satisfied  only  with  the  utmost  nicety  and  finish  of  style, 
are  demanded  by  the  writer;  while  quickness  of  thought, 
boundless  self-confidence,  tact  in  seizing  upon  the  most 
available,  though  not  the  most  satisfactory,  arguments, 
and  a  certain  intellectual  coarseness  that  is  not  offended 
by  a  slip  or  a  blunder,  are  necessary  to  the  orator.  Again, 
a  writer  may  spend  an  hour  in  choosing  a  word,  and  a 
day  in  polishing  a  sentence;  he  may  watch  for  a  simile 
“  as  the  idle  boy  watches  for  the  lurking  place  of  the 
adder”;  but,  as  the  author  of  Lacon  has  observed,  elo¬ 
quence,  to  produce  its  full  effect,  must  start  from  the 
head  of  the  orator,  as  Pallas  from  the  brain  of  Jove, 
clad  in  full  panoply.  The  fastidious  writer  may  blot  out 
words  and  substitute  new  ones  by  the  hundred,  and  it  is 
his  own  fault  if  the  fact  is  known  to  his  dearest  friend; 
but  if  an  orator  chances  to  boggle  once  with  his  tongue, 
the  detection  is  immediate,  and  the  punishment  certain. 
Great  writers,  too,  having  a  reputation  to  support,  often 


190 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


suffer  as  speakers  from  a  self-defeating  over-anxiety  to 
do  well;  like  Sheridan,  who  was  said  to  have  been  all 
his  life  afraid  of  the  author  of  “  The  School  for  Scandal,” 
they  are  frightened  at  the  shadow  of  their  own  reputation. 

Among  the  youthful  orator’s  helps,  there  is  no  doubt 
that  conversation  may  be  made  one  of  the  most  serviceable. 
Of  course,  there  is  a  material  difference  between  public 
speaking  and  private;  yet  the  fact  that  one  is  monologue, 
and  the  other  dialogue,  does  not  prevent  the  latter  from 
being  a  material  aid  toward  the  acquisition  of  ease  and 
self  -  possession  in  public  speech,  especially  in  debate. 
Quickness  of  thought,  skill  in  seizing  upon  the  strong 
points  of  a  subject,  exactness  of  statement,  adroitness  in 
parry  and  thrust,  facility  of  expression,  and  general  men¬ 
tal  activity,  are  all  cultivated  by  conversation,  and  are  at 
the  same  time  the  qualities  most  needed  in  public  dis¬ 
cussion.  Instead  of  talking  to  five  or  ten  persons  in  a 
public  address,  you  are  talking  to  hundreds  or  thou¬ 
sands,  but  “  the  one  exercise  has  helped  for  the  other,  as 

singing  in  a  parlor  helps  to  sing  in  a  choir,  or  as  shoot¬ 
ing  with  an  air-gun,  at  ten  paces,  helps  one  to  shoot 

straight  with  a  rifle,  at  a  hundred.” 

We  cannot  conclude  this  chapter  without  reminding 
the  student  of  oratory  that  there  is  no  calling  in  which 
faith  in  one’s  self,  so  necessary  to  all  successful  exertion, 
is  more  necessary  than  in  that  of  the  orator.  After  he 
has  made  all  possible  preparation  for  a  public  effort,  he 
should,  as  far  as  possible,  dismiss  all  anxiety  about  the 
result.  If,  instead  of  having  this  self-confidence,  he  dis¬ 
trusts  his  own  powers,  and  becomes  self-critical,  acting 
continually  as  a  spy  upon  himself,  he  will  almost  cer¬ 
tainly  be  embarrassed  and  crippled  in  his  speech,  if  he 


THE  ORATOR’S  HELPS. 


191 


does  not  break  down  altogether.  Suspicion  here,  as  else¬ 
where,  tends  to  beget  the  very  evil  that  is  deprecated.  The 
mind  is  apt  to  avenge  any  distrust  of  its  faithfulness. 
Time,  practice,  and  patience  only  can  give  the  perfect 
ease,  coolness,  and  self-possession  which  are  essential  to 
perfect  success, —  that  profound  faith  in  one’s  abilities 
which  acts  as  a  charm  upon  all  the  powers  of  the  mind, 
—  as  time  only  can  bestow  that  practical  instinct  of 
skill  which  gives  the  intuitive  law  of  success,  and  shows 
the  only  way  to  reach  it.  And  here  we  may  speak  of 
a  phenomenon  noted  by  some  speakers  which  is  full  of 
encouragement  to  tyros  in  oratory  who  are  appalled  by 
the  Herculean  labors  and  the  difficulties  which  “  cast 
their  shadows  before  ”  them,  as  they  toil  up  the  steeps  of 
excellence.  We  allude  to  that  law  of  the  mind  by  which  its 
muscles,  like  those  of  the  body,  becomes  autonomic,  a  law 
unto  themselves;  by  which,  as  an  eloquent  pulpit  orator 
has  said,  “  the  intuition  with  which  it  works  is  a  safer 
and  surer  guide  than  precepts,  and  better  and  surer  suc¬ 
cess  is  reached  than  the  most  laborious  planning  could 
have  gained.”  Everybody  who  has  read  the  physiological 
works  of  the  day,  is  more  or  less  familiar  with  what  is 
called  “  unconscious  cerebration,”  a  state  in  which  the 
brain  works  unconsciously, —  solving  problems  or  answer¬ 
ing  questions  at  night,  while  the  man  is  sleeping,  which 
baffled  all  his  powers  in  the  daytime.  Phenomena  like 
this  occur  in  the  experience  of  accomplished  and  trained 
speakers. 

A  writer  in  “  Harper’s  Magazine  ”  speaks  of  a  preacher 
unsurpassed  by  any  living  one  in  extempore  power,  alike 
of  language,  thought,  and  tone,  who  affirms  that,  some¬ 
times,  in  his  best  hours,  he  loses  all  conscious  hold  upon 


192 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


his  mind  and  speech,  and  while  perfectly  sure  that  all  is 
going  on  well  in  his  attic,  it  seems  to  him  that  somebody 
else  is  talking  up  there;  and  he  catches  himself  wonder¬ 
ing  who  under  the  sun  that  fellow  is  who  is  driving  on 
at  such  a  rate.  Examples  of  this  unconscious  action  of 
the  mind  are  seen  in  every  calling.  It  is  this  instinct  of 
skill,  the  result  of  years  of  practice,  self-discipline,  and 
observation,  which  enables  the  funambulist  to  travel  with¬ 
out  fear  on  a  wire  suspended  over  the  dizzy  chasm  of 
Niagara;  which  enables  the  marksman  to  raise  his  rifle, 
and,  apparently  without  aim,  to  bring  down  a  pigeon  on 
the  wing;  which  enables  the  painter  to  give  the  most 
delicate  touches  to  his  picture  while  engaged  in  conver¬ 
sation;  which  gives  to  the  pianist  his  almost  miraculous  , 
touch,  so  that,  as  his  fingers  run  swiftly  over  the  keys, 
they  seem  to  be  instinct  with  thought  and  feeling  oozing 
from  their  tips.  This  automatic  action,  it  is  evident,  must 
be  a  great  help  to  the  orator,  relieving  him,  as  it  does, 
of  much  care,  anxiety,  and  toil,  and  carrying  him  often¬ 
times  triumphantly  through  his  work  without  solicitude 
or  conscious  effort.  Like  all  other  advantages,  however, 
it  has  its  compensations;  and  if  a  speaker  be  naturally 
indolent,  there  is  danger  lest,  instead  of  laboriously  pre¬ 
paring  himself,  he  should  rely  upon  this  faculty  altogether. 
The  result  of  so  doing  will  be,  as  seen  in  the  melancholy 
case  of  those  persons  who  are  distinguished  for  the  “  gift 
of  the  gab,’’  that  he  will  speedily  lose  all  true  inspiration 
and  force,  and  sink  into  a  mere  machine,  like  a  barrel- 
organ,  that  plays  over  and  over  ad  nauseam  the  same  worn- 
out  tones. 


CHAPTER  VII. 


THE  TESTS  OF  ELOQUENCE. 


T  has  been  justly  said  that  for  the  triumphs  of  elo- 


-1-  quence, —  for  the  loftiest  displays  of  the  art, —  there 
must  be  something  more  than  an  eloquent  man;  there 
must  be  a  reinforcing  of  man  from  events,  so  as  to  give 


the  double  force  of  reason  and  destiny.  For  the  explo¬ 


sions  and  eruptions,  “there  must  be  some  crisis  in  affairs; 
there  must  be  accumulations  of  heat  somewhere,  beds  of 
ignited  anthracite  at  the  centre.  And  in  cases  where 
profound  conviction  has  been  wrought,  the  eloquent  man 
is  he  who  is  no  beautiful  speaker,  but  who  is  inwardly 
drunk  with  a  certain  belief.  It  agitates  and  tears  him, 
and  perhaps  almost  bereaves  him  of  the  power  of  articu¬ 
lation.  Then  it  rushes  from  him  in  short,  abrupt  screams, 
in  torrents  of  meaning.”  Hence  Goethe  has  somewhere 
said  that  to  write  is  an  abuse  of  words;  that  the  impres¬ 
sion  of  a  solitary  reading  replaces  but  sadly  the  vivid 
energy  of  spoken  language;  that  it  is  by  his  personality 
that  man  acts  upon  man,  while  such  impressions  are  at 
once  the  strongest  and  the  purest.  The  immeasurable 
superiority  of  oratory  spoken  over  oratory  read,  is  known 
to  all.  When  the  contending  forces  are  drawn  out  face 
to  face,  there  is  the  excitement  of  a  battle,  and  every 
blow  which  tells  against  the  enemy  is  welcomed  with  the 
same  huzzas  that  soldiers  raise  when  a  well-aimed  shot 


9 


193 


194 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


makes  a  chasm  in  the  ranks  of  the  enemy,  or  demolishes  his 
defenses.  The  effect,  under  such  circumstances,  of  an  over¬ 
whelming  attack  or  of  a  scathing  retort  arises  as  much  from 
the  mental  condition  of  the  hearers  as  from  the  vigor  of 
the  blows.  “  It  is  because  the  powder  lights  upon  a  heated 
surface  that  an  explosion  is  produced. "  Again,  the  electric 
sympathy  of  numbers  deepens  the  impression,  even  when 
no  exciting  question  is  up,  and  no  party  feeling  is  kindled. 
An  audience  is  not  a  mere  aggregate  of  the  individuals 
that  compose  it.  Their  common  sympathy  intensifies  the 
feeling  which  the  speaker  produces,  as  ajar  in  a  battery  is 
charged  with  the  whole  electricity  of  the  battery.  The 
speech  which  would  be  listened  to  calmly  by  ten  or  a  dozen 
persons,  will  thrill  and  electrify  a  multitude,  as  a  jest  will 
set  the  tables  in  a  roar,  which,  heard  by  one  man,  will 

m 

scarcely  provoke  a  smile.  Another  secret  of  the  superior¬ 
ity  of  spoken  oratory,  is  the  delight  which  is  felt,  in  im¬ 
promptu  eloquence  as  a  mere  feat.  The  difficulty  of  pour¬ 
ing  forth  extempore  beautiful  or  striking  thought  in  apt 
and  vivid  language,  especially  for  an  hour  or  hours,  is  so 
great  that  only  few  can  overcome  it,  and  the  multitude, 
who  see  something  divine  in  such  mysterious  manifesta¬ 
tions  of  power,  are  ready  to  exclaim,  as  in  the  days  of 
Herod,  “  It  is  the  voice  of  a  god!  ”  The  readers  of  a  debate 
are  under  no  such  spell.  The  words  do  not  come  to  them 
burning  from  the  lips  of  the  speaker,  but  impress  them 
precisely  as  would  the  same  quantity  of  printed  matter 
coolly  written  for  the  press.  They  read  passages  which  are 
reported  to  have  drawn  forth  “thunders  of  applause”  with¬ 
out  emotion,  and  sarcasms  which  provoked  “loud  laughter” 
without  being  cheated  into  a  single  smile.  Besides  this,  the 
figure,  the  voice,  the  magnetism  of  the  speaker,  do  much 


THE  TESTS  OF  ELOQUENCE. 


195 


to  deepen  the  force  and  significance  of  his  words.  It  is 
said  that  Erskine’s  looks  spoke  before  his  lips,  and  that 
his  tones  charmed  even  those  who  were  too  remote  to 
catch  his  words.  Demosthenes  relied  so  much  on  action 
that  he  called  it  the  first,  second,  and  third  requisite  of 
an  orator.  Cicero  declared  that  without  it  the  greatest 
gifts  are  unavailing,  while  with  it  mediocrity  can  surpass 
genius  itself.  The  power  of  the  orator  lies  less  in  what  he 
says  than  in  how  he  says  it.  A  provincial  actor  will  deliver 
the  “farewell"  speech  of  Othello  word  by  word  with  literal 
correctness,  and  you  will  be  as  unmoved  as  himself ;  the 
great  actor  speaks  it,  and  you  “  read  Shakspeare  as  by  a 
flash  of  lightning."  It  is  said  that  Macready  never  pro¬ 
duced  a  greater  effect  than  hy  the  words,  “  Who  said  that?" 
Garrick  used  to  say  that  he  would  give  a  hundred  guineas 
if  he  could  say  “  Oh!”  as  Whitefield  did.  When  Mirabeau’s 
friend  complained  that  the  Assembly  would  not  listen  to 
him,  that  fiery  leader  asked  for  his  speech,  and  the  next  day 
roused  the  Assembly  by  uttering  as  his  own  the  words  they 
had  refused  to  hear  from  another.  “  The  words  were  the 
same:  the  fire  that  made  them  thrilling  and  electric  were 
not  his  friend’s',  but  his  own." 

There  is  another  cause  of  the  different  impression  which 
a  speech  produces  when  read  from  what  it  produced  when 
heard;  it  lies  in  the  very  nature  of  the  oratorical  style. 
It  has  been  justly  said  that  that  is  good  rhetoric  for  the 
hustings  which  is  bad  for  a  book.  Fox,  when  told  that 
a  speech  read  well,  said:  “Then  it  must  have  been  a  bad 
speech."  It  is  not  to  secure  the  “  all  hail,  hereafter " 
that  the  orator  aims,  but  at  instant  effect.  The  more  ex¬ 
quisite  his  skill, —  the  more  perfect  his  adaptation  to  his 
theme,  his  audience,  and  the  occasion, — the  more  com- 


196 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


pletely  his  speech  is  evolved  ex  visceribus  causae , —  the 
less  likely  will  he  be  to  captivate  the  general  reader, 
especially  when  the  lapse  of  time  has  worked  a  revolution 
in  tastes,  or  obscured  his  allusions,  or  robbed  the  topics 
themselves-  of  their  interest.  On  the  other  hand,  the  more 
his  discourse  is  adapted  to  excite  universal  interest,  and  to 
appeal  to  the  sympathies  of  after  ages, —  the  more  it 
abounds  in  thoughts  and  suggestions  of  universal  interest, 
and  gems  of  expression  which  are  likely  to  sparkle  for  all 
time, —  the  less  exact  will  be  the  adaptation  to  the  audience 
and  the  occasion.  It  was  the  very  qualities  in  Demos¬ 
thenes’  speeches  of  which  the  modern  reader  is  apt  to 
complain,  that  made  them  so  overwhelming  in  their  effect 
upon  his  countrymen;  and  conversely,  it  was  the  very 
characteristics  of  Burke’s  philosophic  harangues  over  which 
his  hearers  yawned,  that  will  make  them  the  delight  of 
all  posterity. 

The  orator  who  is  haranguing  a  promiscuous  assembly 
must  not  proceed  as  if  he  were  speaking  in  the  schools. 
His  oratory  must  be  governed,  indeed,  by  an  enlarged 
philosophy,  but  he  must  not  formally  philosophize.  The 
structure  of  his  argument  should  be  reared  on  broad  and 
massy  foundations,  but  in  appearance  it  should  be  self- 
poised  and  pensile.  While  he  should  reason  logically,  he 
should  make  no  parade  of  logic;  the  skeleton  of  his  argu¬ 
ment  should  not  force  itself  through  the  flesh.  Except 
on  rare  occasions,  when  addressing  a  highly  intellectual 
audience,  he  must  repeat  the  same  ideas  in  different  words, 
—  dwelling  upon  and  reiterating  his  thoughts,  till  he  is 
sure  that  he  is  understood  and  has  made  a  deep  impres¬ 
sion.  There  is  a  sort  of  previous  lubrication,  such  as  the 
boa-constrictor  applies  to  the  goat  or  bullock  he  digests, 


THE  TESTS  OF  ELOQUENCE. 


197 


which  is  absolutely  necessary  to  familiarize  the  popular 
mind  with  any  truth,  especially  with  one  that  is  a  start¬ 
ling  or  complex  novelty.  It  becomes  necessary,  therefore, 
as  a  late  writer  says,  to  vary  the  modes  of  presenting  it; 
putting  it  now  directly  before  the  eye,  now  obliquely; 
now  in  abstract  form,  now  in  the  concrete;  and  he  is  the 
most  skillful  orator  who  can  contrive  the  most  cunning 
forms  for  appearing  to  say  something  new,  when  he  is 
really  but  echoing  himself, —  who  can  break  up  massy 
chords  into  running  variations,  and  mask,  by  slight  differ- 
eiices  in  the  manner,  a  virtual  identity  in  the  substance. 

It  was  well  said  by  Demosthenes  that  the  power  of 
oratory  is  as  much  in  the  ear  as  in  the  tongue.  Fox 
advised  Romilly,  in  an  important  trial,  not  to  be  afraid, 
in  summing  up  the  evidence,  of  repeating  material  ob¬ 
servations,  as  “  it  was  better  that  some  of  the  audience 
should  observe  it,  than  that  any  should  not  understand.” 
Erskine  deemed  it  one  of  Fox’s  highest  merits  that  he 
passed  and  repassed  the  same  topics  “  in  the  most  unfore¬ 
seen  and  fascinating  review.”  He  knew,  adds  Lord  Stan¬ 
hope,  that,  by  the  multitude,  one  argument  stated  in  five 
different  forms,  is,  in  general,  held  equal  to  five  different 
arguments.  Both  Pitt  and  Brougham  justify  the  practice 
of  amplification,  the  latter  declaring  that  the  orator  often 
feels  that  he  could  add  strength  to  his  composition  by 
compression,  but  his  hearers  would  then  be  unable  to 
keep  pace  with  him,  and  he  is  compelled  to  sacrifice  con¬ 
ciseness  to  clearness.  De  Quincey,  in  his  observations  upon 
Greek  literature,  remarks  that  even  an  orator  like  Lord 
Bacon  (as  described  by  Ben  Jonson)  was  too  weighty,  too 
massy  with  the  bullion  of  original  thought,  ever  to  have 
realized  the  idea  of  a  great  popular  orator, —  one  who 


198 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


“  wields  at  will  a  fierce  democracy,'1  and  ploughs  up  the 
great  deeps  of  public  sentiment  or  party  strife,  or  national 
animosities,  like  a  levanter  or  a  monsoon.  “If.  such  an 
orator,”  says  De  Quincey,  “  had  labored  with  no  other  de¬ 
fect,  had  he  the  gift  of  tautology?  Could  he  say  the  same 
thing  three  times  over  in  direct  sequence?  for,  without 
this  talent  of  iteration, —  of  repeating  the  same  thought 
in  diversified  forms, —  a  man  ma}^  utter  good  heads  of 
an  oration,  but  not  an  oration.” 

It  is  true  the  Greek  orators  appear  to  have  adopted 
a  different  practice  from  the  moderns  in  this  respect; 
but  there  is  strong  reason  to  believe  that  their  harangues 
have  not  come  down  to  us  as  they  were  delivered, —  that 
they  condensed  them  when  they  committed  them  to  writ¬ 
ing.  It  was  the  opinion  of  Burke  that  not  even  an 
Athenian  audience  could  have  followed  the  orations  of 
Demosthenes,  if  he  had  uttered  them  in  the  concentrated 
form  in  which  they  have  come  down  to  us;  and  Cicero 
objects  to  the  Greeks  that  they  sometimes  carried  brevity 
to  the  point  of  obscurity.  But  the  expansion  and  repe¬ 
tition,  which  were  a  merit  at  the  moment  of  delivery, 
become  glaring  defects  when  a  speech  is  printed.  “  Bot¬ 
tom!  thou  art  translated!”  it  has  been  justly  said,  might 
be  placed  as  a  motto  under  most  collections  of  printed 
speeches.  Pinkney  recognized  this  truth  when  he  began 
to  write  out  his  great  speech  in  the  Nereide  case,  and, 
disappointed  in  the  effect  when  he  saw  it  on  paper,  threw 
down  his  pen.  In  reading  the  sermons  of  George  White- 
field  we  are  puzzled  to  account  for  the  prodigious  effects 
they  produced;  but  we  forget  that  the  sentiments  which, 
as  seen  on  the  quiet  page,  seem  so  tame  and  common¬ 
place,  were  full  of  life,  beauty,  and  power,  when  illus- 


199 


THE  TESTS  OF  ELOQUENCE. 

trated  by  his  musical  intonation,  the  play  of  his  feat¬ 
ures,  and  his  apt  gestures.  As  printed  sermons  they  are 
“stale,  flat,  and  unprofitable”;  but  when  rushing  from 
the  burning  lips  of  the  preacher,  they  wrought  miracles, 
warmed  the  fastidious  Hume  and  the  haughty  Bolingbroke 
into  enthusiasm,  and  swept  before  them  such  towers  of 
Sadduceeism  as  Franklin  and  Lord  Chesterfield. 

One  of  the  most  eloquent  preachers  of  the  day  was  the 
late  Dr.  Guthrie,  of  Edinburgh;  yet  the  reader  of  his 
sermons  hardly  discovers  in  them  adequate  proofs  of 
this  fact.  Much  of  his  charm  lay  in  his  illustrations, 
which  were  apt  and  striking  as  they  came  from  his  lips, 
but  lose  much  of  their  impressiveness  on  paper.  In  lis¬ 
tening  to  his  vivid  appeals,  a  metaphor  dazzled  you  and 
was  gone;  in  his  printed  page,  you  examine  it  coolly  and 
carefully;  it  is  pinned  down  for  you  like  a  butterfly  on 
a  card,  and  you  can  critically  finger  it  and  pick  holes  in 
it.  Hence,  a  reviewer  of  his  published  sermons,  who  would 
probably  have  been  captivated  by  their  delivery,  com¬ 
plains  that  there  is  in  them  a  great  deal  of  illustration, 
and  very  little  to  illustrate;  a  very  small  army,  but  a  most 
valorous  noise  of  drums.  The  illustration,  he  says,  “  bears 
the  same  relation  to  the  idea  illustrated  that  the  lion 
depicted  on  the  outside  of  the  menagerie, —  a  man  beneath 
his  royal  foot,  a  horse  flying  afar,  as  with  uplifted  head 
and  dishevelled  mane  he  is  engaged  in  sending  forth  his 
tremendous  roar,  which  makes  every  creature  of  the  wil¬ 
derness  quake  with  fear, —  bears  to  the  ignoble  and  sleepy 
brute,  which,  when  you  enter,  you  find  huddled  down  in 
a  corner  of  his  cage,  no  more  like  the  king  of  beasts  out¬ 
side,  which  is  supposed  to  be  his  counterfeit  presentment, 
‘than  I  to  Hercules.”1  So  with  many  political  speeches 


200 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


whose  reported  effects  seem  so  incredible;  when  they -are 
printed,  we  have,  it  is  true,  “  the  self-same  words,  but  not 
the  self-same  tune."  The  vehement  gesture,  the  thunder¬ 
ing  voice,  the  flashing  eye,  the  curling  lip,  all  “  those  brave 
sublunary  things  that  made  his  raptures  clear," —  above 
all,  the  sympathy  and  applause  of  his  hearers,  which 
doubled  the  weight  and  force  of  his  utterances, —  are  want¬ 
ing.  In  reading  them  at  our  leisure,  pausing  at  every 
line,  and  reconsidering  eveiy  argument,  we  forget  that 
the  hearers  were  hurried  from  point  to  point  too  rapidly 
to  detect  the  fallacies  by  which  they  were  cheated;  that 
they  had  no  time  to  disentangle  sophisms,  or  to  notice 
contradictions  or  inaccuracies  of  reasoning  or  expression. 
We  forget  that  the  sentence  which  seems  so  flat  and 
unimpressive  was  made  emphatic  by  the  ringing  pro¬ 
nunciation;  that  the  sarcasm  which  seems  so  pointless 
took  all  its  venom  from  the  contemptuous  smile  that  ac¬ 
companied  it;  that  the  figure  which  seems  so  tawdry  owed 
its  vividness  to  the  glance  and  the  gesture;  that  the  fallacy 
which  looks  so  shallow  derived  its  plausibility  from  the 
air  of  candor  with  which  it  was  uttered. 

Again,  in  reading  a  speech  in  cold  blood  in  the  closet, 
we  make  a  use  of  it  for  which  it  was  not  designed. 
We  seek  instruction  or  amusement,  while  the  orator  never 
intended  to  instruct  or  amuse.  He  sought  only  to  per¬ 
suade.  Wit,  logic,  philosophy, —  every  merit  of  thought 
or  style  which  did  not  contribute  to  the  end, —  he  sternly 
rejected.  If  repetition,  exaggeration,  sesquipedalian  words, 
or  bombast  even,  subserved  his  purpose,  he  employed  it. 
As  Selden  says,  “  that  rhetoric  is  best  which  is  most  sea¬ 
sonable  and  most  catching.”  The  blunt  old  English  com¬ 
mander  who  addressed  his  men  at  Cadiz,  was  a  true  orator, 


THE  TESTS  OF  ELOQUENCE. 


201 


if  not  a  polished  speaker:  “  What  a  shame  will  it  he,  you 
Englishmen,  that  feed  upon  good  beef  and  beer,  to  let 
those  rascally  Spaniards  beat  you,  that  eat  nothing  but 
oranges  and  lemons!''  O’Connell  has  been  ridiculed  for 
his  blarney;  but  did  not  /?c,  as  well  as  his  critics,  know 
that  he  was  talking  nonsense  when  he  harangued  upon 
“hereditary  bondsmen"  and  “  the  finest  peasantry  in  Eu¬ 
rope”?  Yet,  while  pouring  out  that  nonsense,  he  was 
one  of  the  mightiest,  because  one  of  the  most  successful, 
orators  that  ever  roused  men  to  act.  Nothing  can  be 
more  tawdry  than  a  large  part  of  the  speech  of  Sheridan 
on  the  trial  of  Warren  Hastings;  but  we  know  that  it 
was  a  great  speech,  not  because  Burke  has  told  us  so, 
but  from  the  effects  it  produced.  Windham,  himself 
an  orator,  declared  twenty  years  afterward  that  it  was 
the  greatest  speech  within  the  memory  of  man;  and  the 
House  of  Commons  confessed  its  power  by  adjourning  on 
the  ground  that  its  members  were  too  much  excited  to 
judge  the  case  fairly.  On  the  other  hand,  Sir  James 
Mackintosh's  “luminous  and  philosophical”  disquisition  on 
the  Reform  Bill  we  know  was  a  failure, —  and  why? 
Because  it  was  spoken  to  empty  benches.  And  why  was 
it  spoken  to  empty  benches?  Because  he  spoke  to  the 
head,  and  not  to  the  heart, —  because  he  reasoned  when 
he  should  have  roused, —  because,  in  fine,  his  talents  were 
solid  and  substantial,  not  those  which  enable  a  speaker 
to  produce  with  rapidity  a  series  of  striking  but  transi¬ 
tory  impressions,  and  to  excite  the  minds  of  five  hundred 
men  at  midnight,  without  saying  anything  that  any  one 
of  them  will  be  able  to  remember  in  the  morning. 

Hazlitt  complains  in  one  of  his  essays  that  the  most 
dashing  orator  he  ever  heard,  was  the  flattest  writer  he 


202 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


ever  read.  “  In  speaking,  he  was  like  a  volcano  vomiting 
out  lava;  in  writing,  he  was  like  a  volcano  burnt  out. 
Nothing  but  the  dry  cinders,  the  hard  shell,  remained. 
The  tongues  of  flame  with  which,  in  haranguing  a  mixed 
assembly,  he  used  to  illuminate  his  subject,  and  almost 
scorched  up  the  panting  air,  do  not  appear  painted  on  the 
margin  of  his  works.”  But  ought  this  to  have  excited 
Hazlitt’s  surprise?  Is  it  by  profound  learning  and  solid 
wisdom,  by  accuracy,  depth,  and  comprehensive  views,  that 
men  become  masters  of  assemblies?  A  writer  cannot  be 
too  profound,  but  a  speaker  may;  and  hence  Archbishop 
Whately,  in  his  “  Rhetoric,”  seriously  doubts  whether  a 
first-rate  man  can  be  a  first-rate  orator.  The  very  habits 
of  investigation,  of  accuracy,  of  thoroughness,  of  fastidi¬ 
ousness  in  the  use  of  terms,  which  would  qualify  him  for 
science  and  literary  composition,  would  prove  fatal  to  his 
harangue.  Of  the  political  orator,  this  is  especially  true. 
The  larger  his  views,  the  more  abundant  his  stores  of 
knowledge,  the  more  difficult  will  it  often  be  to  adapt  him¬ 
self  to  the  nimble  movements  of  that  guerrilla  warfare  in 
which  debaters  chiefly  shine.  Though  his  troops  may  be 
far  more  numerous  than  those  of  another  combatant,  and 
more  heavily  armed,  yet  because  he  is  too  fastidious, —  be¬ 
cause  he  must  pause  to  effect  the  best  disposition  of  his 
battalions, —  because  his  front  and  his  rear  must  alike  be 
cared  for,  before  he  will  move, —  he  may  be  eclipsed  by  a 
person  of  far  inferior  powers,  who  yet  can  brilliantly  ma¬ 
noeuvre  his  more  manageable  forces  on  a  more  limited  field. 
Superior  activity  and  command  of  weapons  may  often  com¬ 
pensate  for  inferiority  in  strength.  The  tactics  of  Napo¬ 
leon,  so  irresistible  in  the  field,  are  not  less  victorious  in 
the  senate.  We  are  told  that  at  an  interview  which  took 


THE  TESTS  OF  ELOQUENCE. 


203 


place  after  the  battle  of  Austerlitz  between  Savary,  his  am¬ 
bassador,  and  the  Emperor  of  Russia,  Alexander  paid  a  just 
tribute  to  the  marvellous  genius  of  his  conqueror,  but  con¬ 
tended  that  the  French  army  was  double  his  own.  “  Your 
Majesty  is  misinformed,"  replied  Savary;  “our  force  was 
inferior  to  yours  by  at  least  twenty-five  thousand  men. 
But  we  manoeuvred  much;  and  the  same  division  combated 
at  many  different  points."  So  is  it  oftentimes  in  debate. 

It  is  an  old  but  just  remark  that  eloquence  is  in  the 
audience,  not  in  the  speaker.  It  is  a  harmony  struck  out  of 
their  mental  chords  by  a  master's  hand.  To  play  skillfully 
on  this  instrument  he  must  be  sincere.  He  must  feel  that 
he  has  gone  to  the  bottom  of  his  theme.  But  this  is  precisely 
what  the  deep  thinker,  trained  to  the  most  scrupulous  accu¬ 
racy  of  investigation. —  who  sees  all  the  sides  of  a  question, 
and  is  fully  alive  to  its  difficulties, —  cannot  do.  He  can- 
not  be  fluent  upon  it,  for  in  him  fluency  would  be  flippancy. 
Especially  will  this  be  the  case,  if  the  subject  be  a  new  one 
which  he  has  never  considered,  or  if  some  new  point  has 
come  up  suddenly  in  the  course  of  a  debate.  Though  he 
may  take  a  juste r  view  of  it,  on  the  spur  of  the  moment, 
than  a  shallow  thinker  would,  he  cannot  fail  to  see  and  feel 
how  impossible  it  must  be  to  do  full  justice  to  a  subject 
demanding  reflection  and  investigation;  and,  therefore, 
however  great  his  wisdom,  he  will  be  unable  to  speak  with 
the  fluency,  the  easy,  unembarrassed  confidence  of  another 
wdio  never  looks  below  the  surface  of  things,  and  gets  his 
best  views  at  the  first  glance.*  And  yet  it  is  this  fluent 

*  Hence,  as  Hazlitt  well  remarks,  “  the  distinction  between  eloquence  and 
wisdom,  between  ingenuity  and  common  sense.  A  man  may  be  dexterous  and 
able  in  explaining  the  grounds  of  his  opinions,  and  yet  may  be  a  mere  sophist, 
because  he  only  sees  one  half  of  a  subject.  Another  may  feel  the  whole  weight 
of  a  question,  nothing  relating  to  it  may  be  lost  upon  him,  and  yet  he  may  be 


204 


ORATORY  ANT)  ORATORS. 


utterance,  with  graceful  action  and  elegant  diction, —  quali¬ 
ties  that  speak  to  the  ear,  to  the  eye,  and  not  simply  to  the 
mind, —  that  most  popular  assemblies  want.  An  English 
reviewer  justly  says  that  true  political  science  is  not  merely 
needless  in  popular  assemblies,  it  is  positively  distasteful,  and 
those  who  are  masters  of  it  can  rarely  obtain  it  a  hearing. 
The  gorgeous  imagery  and  lofty  eloquence  of  Burke  could 
not  atone  for  the  repulsiveness  of  his  legislative  wisdom, 
and  few  men  spoke  to  thinner  benches.  Lord  Chesterfield 
tells  us  that  he  entered  the  House  of  Commons  with  awe, 
but  soon  discovered  that,  of  the  five  hundred  and  sixty 
members,  not  over  thirty  could  understand  reason.  These 
thirty  required  plain  sense  in  harmonious  periods;  the  rest 
were  a  mob  who  were  to  be  moved  only  by  an  appeal  to 
their  passions,  their  seeming  interests,  and  their  senses. 
Graceful  utterance  and  action  pleased  their  eyes,  elegant 
diction  tickled  their  ears,  but  they  could  neither  penetrate 
below  the  surface,  nor  follow  those  who  did. 

It  may  be  thought  that  the  House  of  Commons  of  to¬ 
day  is  a  more  intelligent  body,  and  that,  consequently,  its 
requirements  are  higher.  Not  such  is  the  judgment  of 
some  of  the  closest  observers.  “  I  find  truisms,”  Mr.  Milner 
Gibson  once  observed  to  a  friend,  “  the  best  things  for  the 
House  of  Commons.”  ‘*A  learned  man  in  that  body,”  says 
Sir  Henry  L.  Bulwer,  who  takes  an  extremely  cynical  view 
of  the  matter,  “  is  more  likely  to  be  wrong  than  any  other. 
He  fancies  himself  amid  an  assembly  of  meditative  and 

able  to  give  no  account  of  the  manner  in  which  it  affects  him,  or  to  drag  his 
reasons  from  their  silent  lurking-j)laces.  This  last  will  be  a  wise  man,  though 
neither  a  logician  nor  a  rhetorician.  Goldsmith  was  a  fool  to  Dr.  Johnson  in 
argument;  that  is,  in  assigning  the  specific  grounds  of  his  opinion;  Dr.  Johnson 
was  a  fool  to  Goldsmith  in  the  fine  tact,  the  airy,  intuitive  faculty  with  wrhich  he 
skimmed  the  surfaces  of  things,  and  unconsciously  formed  his  opinions.” 


THE  TESTS  OF  ELOQUENCE. 


205 


philosophic  statesmen;  he  calls  up  all  his  deepest  thoughts 
and  most  refined  speculations;  he  is  anxious  to  astonish  by 
the  profundity  and  extent  of  his  views,  the  novelty  and 
sublimity  of  his  conceptions;  as  he  commences,  the  listen¬ 
ers  are  convinced  he  is  a  bore,  and  before  he  concludes, 
he  is  satisfied  that  they  are  blockheads.  .  .  .  The  House 
of  Commons  consists  of  a  mob  of  gentlemen,  the  greater 
part  of  whom  are  neither  without  talent  nor  information. 
But  a  mob  of  well-informed  gentlemen  is  still  a  mob, 
requiring  to  be  amused  rather  than  instructed,  and  only 
touched  by  those  reasons  and  expressions,  which,  clear  to 
the  dullest  as  to  the  quickest  intellect,  vibrate  through 
an  assembly  as  if  it  had  but  one  ear  and  one  mind.”  “  It 
would  be  as  idle,"  says  Macaulay,  “  in  an  orator  to  waste 
meditation  and  long  research  on  his  speeches,  as  it  would 
be  in  the  manager  of  a  theatre  to  adorn  all  the  crowd  of 
courtiers  and  ladies  who  cross  over  the  stage  in  a  proces¬ 
sion  with  real  pearls  and  diamonds.”  No  man  in  his  day 
had  taken  a  more  exact  account  of  the  same  House  than 
Sir  Robert  Peel;  yet  he  tells  us  that  arguments,  to  have 
weight  with  the  representatives  of  the  nation,  must  be 
“  such  as  are  adapted  to  people  who  know  very  little  of 
the  matter,  care  not  much  about  it,  half  of  whom  have 
dined  or  are  going  to  dine,  and  are  forcibly  struck  only 
by  that  which  they  can  instantly  comprehend  without 
much  trouble.” 

As  the  object  of  public  speaking  in  most  cases  is  per¬ 
suasion,  it  is  natural  to  regard  success  as  the  highest  test 
of  skill.  “A  great  speech,”  O’Connell  used  to  say,  in  speak¬ 
ing  of  forensic  discourses,  “is  a  very  fine  thing;  but,  after 
all,  the  verdict  is  the  thing.”  There  have  been  cases,  no 
doubt,  of  triumph  over  adverse  prejudices,  where  verdicts 


206 


ORATORY  AXD  ORATORS. 


have  been  wrung  from  reluctant  juries,  or  votes  from 
hostile  assemblies,  under  circumstances  so  unfavorable, 
that  no  higher  proof  could  be  afforded  of  the  orator's 
ability  and  skill.  Of  all  the  testimonies  to  Cicero’s  ora¬ 
torical  power,  the  most  convincing  is  the  fact  we  have 
already  mentioned,  that  he  made  Caesar  acquit  the  man 
he  had  resolved  to  condemn.  It  is  said  that  the  gay 
and  gallant  figure  of  Murat,  when  in  the  Russian  cam¬ 
paign  he  rushed  among  the  bristling  lances  of  the  enemy, 
as  if  to  grasp  the  bloody  hand  of  Death,  and  lead  him 
down  the  dance,  drew  from  the  Cossacks  loud  cries  of  ad¬ 
miration.  So  when  O’Connell,  against  fearful  odds,  dashed 
into  the  opposing  ranks  in  the  House  of  Commons,  even 
Peel  and  Disraeli  sometimes  dropped  their  pencils  and 
gazed  in  fascinated  admiration  at  the  orator,  with  his 
wondrous  attitudes,  and  still  more  wondrous  words  and 
tones.  On  the  other  hand,  there  have  been  cases  where 
the  divinest  eloquence,  enforcing  unwelcome  truths,  has 
been  powerless  against  deep-rooted  convictions  and  fore¬ 
gone  conclusions,  especially  when  fortified  by  self-interest 
and  party  or  sectarian  prejudice.  As  in  war,  it  is  not 
always  the  general  who  puts  forth  the  highest  strategical 
and  tactical  skill  that  is  rewarded  with  victory  in  a  battle 
or  a  campaign,  because,  though  his  plans  may  be  perfect, 
they  may  still  be  defeated  by  any  one  of  a  hundred  con¬ 
tingencies  over  which  he  has  no  control,  and  which  no 
human  sagacity  could  have  foreseen, —  so  an  orator  may  be 
baffled  by  prejudices  against  which  the  most  cogent  argu¬ 
ment  and  the  most  persuasive  appeals  may  be  directed 
in  vain. 

“A  jest’s  prosperity,”  says  Shakspeare,  “lies  in  the 
ear  of  him  that  hears  it,”  and  the  same  may  be  said  of 


THE  TESTS  OF  ELOQUENCE. 


207 


the  success  of  a  speech.  The  history  of  legislation  in 
this  country  and  England  shows  that  there  are  times  of 
violent  party  strife,  when  the  most  convincing  oratory 
can  avail  nothing  against  the  inexorable  decrees  of  party 
and  “  the  dead  eloquence  of  votes.''  The  burning  appeals 
of  Chatham  did  not  prevent  Great  Britain  from  taxing 
and  waging  war  upon  her  colonies;  the  great  speech  of 
his  son  upon  the  Slave-Trade,  the  most  powerful  oratorical 
effort  of  his  life,  did  not  win  a  majority  of  votes  in  the 
House  of  Commons  against  that  iniquitous  traffic;  the  almost 
superhuman  eloquence  with  which  Burke,  Sheridan,  and 
Fox  shook  Westminster  Hall  did  not  prevent  Warren 
Hastings  from  going  “unwhipt  of  justice”;  nor  did  the 
Prince  of  Orators  succeed,  until  after  many  impassioned 
and  apparently  fruitless  appeals,  in  rousing  his  country¬ 
men  to  a  sense  of  their  danger  from  Philip  of  Macedon. 
O’Connell  never  made  a  finer  exhibition  of  his  parliament¬ 
ary  powers  than  when,  against  fearful  odds,  and  what  he 
called  “  the  beastly  bellowings  ”  of  the  House  of  Commons, 
he  resisted  the  “  Coercion  Bill,”  introduced  by  Stanley. 
Erskine,  in  his  advocacy  of  the  people’s  rights  before 
juries,  was  more  successful  than  Curran;  but  in  none 
of  his  addresses  was  he  more  eloquent  than  the  brave 
Irishman,  when,  at  midnight,  in  his  defense  of  Bond,  he 
rebuked  the  volunteers  who  clashed  their  arms  as  in  de¬ 
fiance  of  his  invectives,  exclaiming,  “  You  may  assassinate 
me,  but  you  shall  not  intimidate  me”;  nor  in  any  of 
the  fearful  flashes  of  scorn  with  which  Erskine  scathed 
the  band  of  informers,  is  there  to  be  found  a  figure  more 
striking  than  that  of  Curran,  when  he  declaimed  against 
the  spies  brought  up  after  the  rebellion  from  prisons, 
“  those  catacombs  of  living  death,  where  the  wretch  that 


208 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


is  buried  a  man  lies  till  his  heart  has  time  to  fester  and 
dissolve,  and  is  then  dug  up  an  informer.”  Champions 
of  prisoners  in  the  most  remarkable  state  trials  of  their 
respective  countries,  they  both,  as  Mr.  Townsend  has  said,* 
struggled  night  after  night,  with  all  the  resistless  strength 
of  eloquence;  the  one  radiant  of  triumph  and  assured  of 
victory,  the  other  pale  and  steadfast  in  the  energy  of 
despair,  certain  of  the  result,  but  determined  that  all 
the  decent  rites  of  defense  should  be  observed.  In  both 
cases,  the  populace,  enthusiastic  in  their  admiration,  took 
the  horses  from  their  carriages,  and  by  a  voluntary  degra¬ 
dation  drew  the  orators  to  their  homes. 

It  is  an  interesting  question  discussed  by  Archbishop 
Whately,  why  so  few  persons  have  won  high  reputation 
as  orators  compared  with  the  number  of  those  who  have 
attained  eminence  in  other  pursuits.  His  conclusion  is, 
that  vanity, — the  love  of  admiration, —  which  is  so  common 
in  men  of  every  calling,  and  which,  though  it  may  impede, 
does  not  prevent  success,  in  poetry,  politics,  war,  etc.,  oper¬ 
ates  as  an  absolute  hindrance  in  oratory.  The  orator 
attains  his  ends  the  less  he  is  regarded  as  an  orator.  A 
general  reputation  for  eloquence  may  be  advantageous; 
but  on  each  individual  occasion  when  he  speaks,  the  more 
his  hearers  think  of  his  eloquence,  the  less  will  they  think 
of  the  strength  of  his  cause.  If  he  can  make  his  hearers 
believe  that  he  is  not  only  a  stranger  to  all  unfair  artifice, 
but  even  destitute  of  all  persuasive  skill  whatever,  he  will 
persuade  them  the  more  effectually;  and  if  there  ever 
could  be  an  absolutely  perfect  orator,  no  one  would  ( at 
the  time ,  at  least)  discover  that  he  was  so.  Hence  Shak- 
speare  makes  Mark  Antony  begin  his  famous  speech  over 


*”  Lives  of  the  Lord  Chancellors.” 


THE  TESTS  OF  ELOQUENCE. 


209 


the  dead  body  of  Caesar  by  declaring,  “  I  am  no  orator, 
as  Brutus  is”;  and  hence  the  “Quarterly  Review”  linds 
fault  with  the  celebrated  scene,  Jeanie’s  interview  with 
Queen  Caroline,  in  “  The  Heart  of  Mid-Lothian.”  The 
Queen,  in  reply  to  Jeanie's  rhetorical  speech,  is  repre¬ 
sented  as  saying,  “  This  is  eloquence.”  Had  it  been  elo¬ 
quence,  says  the  reviewer,  it  must  necessarily  have  been 
unperceived  by  the  Queen.  “  If  there  is  any  art  of  which 
celare  artem  is  the  basis,  it  is  this.  The  instant  it  peeps 
out,  it  defeats  its  own  object  by  diverting  our  attention 
from  the  subject  to  the  speaker,  and  that  with  a  suspicion 
of  his  sophistry  equal  to  our  admiration  of  his  ingenuity. 
A  man  who,  in  answer  to  an  earnest  address  to  the  feel¬ 
ings  of  his  hearer,  is  told,  ‘  You  have  spoken  eloquently,’ 
feels  that  he  has  failed.  Effie,  when  she  entreats  Sharp- 
itlaw  to  allow  her  to  see  her  sister,  is  eloquent;  and  his 
answer  accordingly  betrays  perfect  unconsciousness  that 
she  has  been  so.  ‘You  shall  see  your  sister,’  he  began, 
‘if  you’ll  tell  me,’ — then,  interrupting  himself,  he  added, 
in  a  more  hurried  tone,  ‘  No,  you  shall  see  your  sister, 
whether  you  tell  me  or  no.'  ”  In  listening  to  eloquence 
of  the  highest  order,  we  are  so  occupied  with  the  thoughts 
presented  to  us,  and  hurried  so  impetuously  toward  the 
end  proposed,  that  we  no  more  regard  the  medium  by 
which  we  are  affected,  than  a  starving  man  the  dish  in 
which  food  is  offered  to  him,  or  than  the  recipient  of 
startling  news  regards  the  looks  and  dress  of  the  mes¬ 
senger.  Fenelon,  in  his  “Dialogues  of  the  Dead,"  repre¬ 
sents  Demosthenes  as  saying  to  Cicero,  “  Thou  madest 
people  say,  ‘How  well  he  speaks!’  but  I  made  them  say, 
‘Let  us  march  against  Philip!’”  Jefferson  tells  us  that 
when  Patrick  Henry  was  making  his  great  speeches,  he 

9* 


210  ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 

always  swept  his  hearers  along  with  him,  and  it  was  not 
till  they  had  left  the  court-room  or  the  legislative  hall, 
that  they  found  themselves  asking,  “What  did  he  say?" 

The  same  principle  is  illustrated  by  an  anecdote  told 
of  Chief  Justice  Parsons,  of  Massachusetts.  When  he 
was  practicing  at  the  bar,  a  farmer  who  had  often  heard 
him  speak,  was  asked  by  a  stranger  what  sort  of  a  pleader 
he  was.  “Oh,  he  is  a  great  lawyer,"  was  the  reply;  “he 
is  an  excellent  counsellor;  but  he  is  a  very  poor  pleader.” 
“But  does  he  not  win  most  of  his  causes?”  “Yes;  but 
that’s  because  he  knows  the  law,  and  can  argue  well;  but 
he  is  no  orator."  We  were  once  talking  with  an  intelli¬ 
gent  old  gentleman  in  Massachusetts,  a  hard-headed  bank 
president,  who  had  served  as  foreman  of  a  jury  in  a  law- 
case,  about  the  ability  of  Rufus  Choate.  “  Mr.  Choate,” 
said  he,  “  was  one  of  the  counsel  in  the  case,  and,  know¬ 
ing  his  skill  in  making  white  appear  black,  and  black 
white,  I  made  up  my  mind  at  the  outset  that  he  should 
not  fool  me.  He  tried  all  his  arts,  but  it  was  of  no  use; 
I  just  decided  according  to  the  law  and  evidence.”  “Of 
course,  you  gave  your  verdict  against  Mr.  Choate’s  client." 
“Why,  no;  we  gave  a  verdict  for  his  client;  but  then 
we  couldn’t  help  it;  lie  had  the  law  and  the  evidence  on 
his  side It  had  never  once  occurred  to  the  good  man 
that  he  had  been  under  a  spell  woven  by  one  who  was 
a  master  of  his  art.  Mr.  Parsons  and  Mr.  Choate  were 
both  distinguished  as  verdict  -  getters.  Unlike  Parsons, 
many  orators  are  tempted  to  sacrifice  the  substance  to  the 
shadow,  by  aiming  at  the  admiration  of  their  hearers, 
rather  than  at  their  conviction;  while,  on  the  other  hand, 
some,  like  him,  may  have  been  really  persuasive  speakers, 
though  they  may  not  have  ranked  high  in  men’s  opinion, 


THE  TESTS  OF  ELOQUENCE. 


211 


and  may  not  have  been  known  to  possess  that  art  of 
which  they  gave  proof  by  skillful  concealment  of  it. 

One  of  the  reasons  why  the  very  name  of  rhetoric  has 
fallen  into  disrepute  in  this  age,  is  that  the  greatest  artists 
strive  to  conceal  their  perfection  in  it;  they  endeavor  to 
make  their  statements  in  such  a  way  that  the  effect  may 
seem  to  be  produced  by  that  which  is  stated  and  not  by 
the  manner  in  which  it  is  stated.  It  was  said  of  Sir  James 
Scarlett,  who,  though  an  admirable  speaker,  indulged  in 
no  great  feats  of  oratory,  that  his  triumphs  at  the  bar  were 
so  easy  and  natural  that  they  did  not  seem  triumphs  at 
all.  The  Duke  of  Wellington  declared  that  when  he  ad¬ 
dressed  a  jury,  there  were  thirteen  jurymen.  A  country¬ 
man  who  had  been  serving  day  after  day  on  a  jury  which 
Mr.  Scarlett  had  addressed,  once  paid  him  -the  highest 
compliment  when  he  was  undervaluing  his  qualifications. 
Being  asked  what  he  thought  of  the  leading  counsel, — 
“  Well,”  was  the  reply,  “  that  lawyer  Brougham  be  a  won¬ 
derful  man;  he  can  talk,  he  can;  but  I  don't  think  nowt 
of  Lawyer  Scarlett.'1  “Indeed!11  exclaimed  the  querist, 
“you  surprise  me!  Why,  you  have  been  giving  him  all 
the  verdicts.11  “  Oh,  there’s  nothing  in  that,1'  said  the 
juror;  “he  be  so  lucky,  you  see,  he  be  always  on  the 
right  side.11  This  reminds  one  of  Partridge,  in  Fielding’s 
“Tom  Jones.'1  “He  the  best  player!”  exclaimed  Part¬ 
ridge  after  seeing  Garrick  in  Hamlet;  “  why,  I  could  act  as 
well  as  he  myself.  I  am  sure  if  I  had  seen  a  ghost,  I 
should  have  looked  in  the  same  manner,  and  done  just 
as  he  did.  The  King  for  my  money;  he  speaks  all  his 
words  distinctly,  half  as  loud  again  as  the  others;  any¬ 
body  may  see  he  is  an  actor.” 

It  will  be  seen  from  all  this,  also,  that  eloquence  is  a 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


2  19 

_L  ^ 


relative  term.  It  is,  as  Dr.  Campbell  has  properly  defined 
it,  “the  art  by  which  a  discourse  is  adapted  to  its  end  "; 
and  therefore  it  is  impossible  to  say  of  any  discourse, 
abstractly  considered,  whether  it  is  or  is  not  eloquent, 
any  more  than  we  can  pronounce  upon  the  wholesome¬ 
ness  of  a  medicine  without  knowing  for  whom  it  is  in¬ 
tended.  While  there  are  certain  qualities  which  all  dis¬ 
courses  should  have  in  common,  yet  there  are  others  which 
must  vary  with  the  varying  capacities,  degrees  of  intelli¬ 
gence,  tastes,  and  affections  of  those  who  are  addressed. 
The  style  of  oratory  that  is  fitted  to  kindle  the  enthusi¬ 
asm  of  Frenchmen,  would  often  provoke  only  the  mer¬ 
riment  of  Englishmen.  The  English  are  grave,  matter- 
of-factish,  sententious,  and  argumentative ;  the  French 
ardent,  discursive,  and  brilliant.  The  French  speaker 
abounds  in  facial  expression  and  gesticulation;  the  Eng¬ 
lish  stands  almost  motionless,  clenching  the  desk  with  his 
hands,  or  burying  them  in  his  breeches  pockets.  Again, 
a  speech  addressed  to  an  audience  of  scholars,  exacts  very 
different  qualities  from  one  addressed  to  the  common 
people.  It  was  said  of  one  of  John  Foster’s  profound  dis¬ 
courses  when  published,  that  “  it  should  have  been  ad¬ 
dressed  to  an  audience  created  for  the  purpose.”  The 
orator  who  throws  a  congregation  of  illiterate  enthusiasts 
into  tears,  would  raise  affections  of  a  very  different  kind, 
should  he  attempt  to  proselyte  an  American  Senate;  and 
again,  the  finest  speaker  that  ever  swayed  a  parliament¬ 
ary  assembly,  might  try  in  vain  to  rouse  or  allay  the 
passions  of  an  uneducated  mob. 

Indeed,  it  is  a  well-known  fact  that  some  of  the  most 
persuasive  parliamentary  orators  have  failed  when  out 
of  their  proper  element,  floundering  like  a  fish  on  dry 


THE  TESTS  OF  ELOQUENCE. 


213 


land.  If  we  may  believe  Disraeli  (Lord  Beaconsfield),  the 
greatest  member  of  Parliament  that  ever  lived  was  Sir 
Robert  Peel;  “he  played  on  the  House  of  Commons  as 
on  an  old  fiddle  ” ;  and  yet,  according  to  the  same  au¬ 
thority,  “  he  could  not  address  a  public  meeting,  or  make 
an  after-dinner  speech,  without  being  ill  at  ease,  and 
generally  saying  something  stilted  or  even  a  little  ridic¬ 
ulous.”  Mr.  Cobden  says  of  Lord  John  Russell:  “On  the 
boards  of  the  House  of  Commons,  Johnny  is  one  of  the 
most  subtle  and  dangerous  of  opponents;  take  him  off* 
those  boards,  and  I  care  nothing  for  him.”  On  the  other 
hand,  O’Connell  was  equally  at  home  in  the  forum,  at  the 
hustings,  or  in  the  House  of  Commons.  Before  he  entered 
Parliament  he  was  pronounced  a  mere  “  mob  orator,”  and 
it  was  predicted  by  his  enemies  that  in  that  body  he 
was  sure  to  “  find  his  level.”  In  1830  he  was  elected  to 
the  House  of  Commons,  and  in  1831  he  was  listened  to 
as  the  foremost  orator  in  that  assembly.  It  was  said  of 
Murray  (Lord  Mansfield),  “  that  he  refined  too  much,  and 
could  wrangle  too  little  for  a  popular  assembly,”  and  hence 
he  succeeded  better  in  the  House  of  Lords  than  in  the 
House  of  Commons.  The  true  orator  will  always  study 
the  character  of  his  audience,  and  whether  he  is  copious 
and  flowing,  or  concise  and  pointed, —  whether  he  arms 
himself  with  the  thunders  and  lightnings  of  eloquence, 
or  speaks  “  with  bated  breath  and  whispering  humble¬ 
ness”  in  the  mild  tones  of  insinuation  or  persuasion, —  he 
will  at  all  times  accommodate  himself  to  his  situation, 
becoming 

“Orpheus  in  silvis,  inter  delphinas  Arion,” 

and,  if  necessary,  will,  like  Sylla,  convert  even  the  trees 
of  the  Academy  into  martial  engines. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


PERSONALITIES  IN  DEBATE. 

A  FOREIGN  correspondent  of  an  American  journal, 
who  visited  the  British  Parliament  a  few  years 
ago,  strikingly  contrasts  the  courtesy  of  political  oppo¬ 
nents  in  that  body  with  the  personalities  which  are  so 
common  in  American  legislatures.  He  says  that  the 
moment  a  member  rises  to  address  the  House  of  Com¬ 
mons,  he  seems  possessed  by  the  most  refined  and  gentle¬ 
manly  consideration  for  others.  In  speaking  of  antagonists 
he  carefully  guards  against  the  slightest  imputation  of  dis¬ 
honorable  motives;  or  if,  in  the  heat  of  debate,  a  word  of 
oblique  significance  slips  from  his  tongue,  he  hastens  to 
withdraw  it,  and  to  express  his  regret;  nay,  even  in  his 
sarcasms  and  home-thrusts,  he  is  careful  to  mention  some¬ 
thing  to  the  credit  of  the  very  foeman  he  is  about  to 
scathe.  Such  a  thing  as  hurling  abusive  epithets,  giving 
the  lie,  and,  above  all,  threatening  personal  violence, — 
practices  so  common  as  scarcely  to  create  a  sensation  in 
our  American  legislatures, —  would  not  be  tolerated  for  a 
moment.  When  the  Earl  of  Derby,  in  an  attack  on  Lord 
John  Russell,  likened  him  to  “  Bottom  the  weaver,”  and 
described  his  policy  by  “  the  two  homely  words,  meddle  and 
muddle,”  it  was  felt  that  he  went  to  the  very  verge  of 
propriety.  Great  as  was  the  ascendency  of  Lord  Palmer¬ 
ston  in  that  body,  it  never  enabled  him  to  lord  it  over  his 

214 


PERSONALITIES  IN  DEBATE. 


215 


fellow-Commoners  so  far  as  to  be  uncivil  to  the  least  popu¬ 
lar  members  of  the  House.  When,  on  one  occasion,  he 
trespassed  so  far  as  to  say  impatiently  of  the  not-over- 
popular  Joseph  Hume,  “  If  the  honorable  gentleman’s* 
understanding  is  obtuse,  it  is  not  my  fault,”  he  was 
instantly  brought  to  his  senses  by  the  reproachful  mur¬ 
murs  of  the  House,  and  was  reminded  that  even  Lord 
Palmerston  must  respect  the  fine  code  of  legislative  chivalry 
established  there. 

What  American,  unless  a  politician,  will  not  feel  humili¬ 
ated  by  the  contrast  between  this  picture  and  the  scenes 
often  witnessed  in  Congress  and  our  State  legislatures? 
How  often  are  epithets  applied  to  each  other,  by  our 
Senators  and  Representatives,  which  a  fishwoman  in  Bil¬ 
lingsgate  might  delight  to  add  to  her  already  sparkling 
vocabulary,  but  which 

“A  beggar  in  his  drink 
Would  not  bestow  upon  his  callet.” 


What  must  be  a  foreigner's  impression,  if,  on  visiting 
Congress,  he  should  hear  an  altercation  in  which  the 
vocabulary  was  exhausted  by  members  for  foul  epithets 
to  fling  at  each  other,  and  see  this  followed, —  as  we  have 
seen  it, —  by  one  of  the  pugilists  rushing  with  turned-up 
sleeves  into  the  arena  before  the  Speaker,  and  shaking  his 
clenched  fist  at  his  antagonist?  Not  always,  however,  did 
the  British  Senate  transfuse  debate  with  those  graceful 


amenities  which  now  do  it  honor,  and  which  lift  its  dis¬ 
cussions  so  far  above  the  hot  and  scurrilous  word-brawls 
which  politicians  so  often  substitute  for  facts  and  logic. 
The  criminative  fury  with  which  Pulteney  attacked  Wal¬ 
pole,  and  Walpole  attacked  Pulteney,  is  well  known  to 
the  readers  of  British  history.  Nearly  all  of  Lord  Chat- 


216 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


ham’s  most  telling  replies  were  bitter  personalities,  such 
as  that  to  Walpole,  when  the  latter  twitted  him  of  his 
youth,  and  the  fierce  reply  to  Lord  Holland,  when,  look¬ 
ing  him  full  in  the  face,  he  said:  “There  are  some ’(per¬ 
sons)  upon  whose  faces  the  hand  of  Heaven  has  so  stamped 
the  mark  of  wickedness,  that  it  were  impiety  not  to  give 
it  credit.”  Not  less  coarse  were  the  invectives  of  Burke, 
which  sometimes  degenerated  into  positive  scurrility.  The 
wisest  man  of  his  age,  and  possessing  a  profoundly  philo- 
•sophic  intellect,  he  had  at  the  same  time  so  vehement  a 
temperament,  so  acute  a  sensibility,  and  so  excitable  an 
imagination, —  his  affections  were  so  warm,  and  his  hatred 
of  wrong  so  prompt  and  intense,  even  to  morbidness, — 
that,  when  his  passions  were  once  roused,  they  raged 
with  a  blind  fury  which  mocked  at  all  control.  Hence, 
though  naturally  generous  and  forgiving,  he  pursued  .an 
antagonist  as  he  would  a  criminal,  and,  while  he  thought 
like  a  philosopher,  acted  like  a  heated  partisan.  Who  has 
forgotten  his  picture  of  Lord  North:  “The  noble  Lord 
who  spoke  last,  after  extending  his  right  leg  a  full  yard 
before  his  left,  rolling  his  flaming  eyes,  and  moving  his 
ponderous  frame,  has  at  length  opened  his  mouth.” 

Again,  who  has  forgotten  the  famous  quarrel  between 
Fox  and  Burke,  or  the  Duke  of  Grafton’s  taunt  at  Thur- 
low’-s  mean  extraction,  which  drew  down  upon  the  assailant 
such  a  crushing  reply;  or  who  is  not  familiar  with  Grat¬ 
tan’s  retort  upon  Flood,  the  most  artistic  and  overwhelming 
invective  that  has  disfigured  parliamentary  debates  ?  Flood 
had  taunted  him  with  aping  the  style  of  Lord  Chatham, 
and  denounced  him  as  “  a  mendicant  patriot,  subsisting 
upon  the  public  accounts, —  who,  bought  by  his  country  for 
a  sum  of  money,  then  sold  his  country  for  prompt  pay- 


PERSONALITIES  IN  DEBATE. 


217 


ment.”  Grattan  begins  by  supposing  an  imaginary  char¬ 
acter,  whom  he  invests  with  all  the  faults  of  his  opponent, 
and  in  whom  he  traces  his  history.  His  evident  intention 
is  to  keep  up  the  transparent  mask  to  the  end  of  the  speech, 
and  then  annihilate  his  rival  by  a  word, — just  as  Broug¬ 
ham,  forty  }7ears  later,  directed  a  memorable  attack  upon 
Canning.  But,  in  the  middle  of  the  speech,  the  orator  can 
restrain  his  pent-up  indignation  no  longer;  the  direct  hos¬ 
tility  which  inspires  the  assault  is  too  powerful  to  allow  the 
flimsy  pretext  of  an  imaginary  character,  and  Grattan 
bursts  into  one  of  those  fiery  onsets  which  no  man  ever  led 
with  more  terrible  effect:  “  The  merchant  may  say  to  you, 
—  the  constitutionalist  may  say  to  you, —  the  American  may 
say  to  you, — and  I,  I  now  say,  and  say  to  your  beard,  sir, — 
you  are  not  an  honest  man!'1  “Can  you  believe,”  wrote 
General  Burgoyne  to  Charles  Fox,  that  “  the  House  heard 
this  discussion  for  two  hours  without  interfering?  On  the 
contrary,  every  one  seemed  to  rejoice  as  his  favorite  gladia¬ 
tor  gave  or  parried  a  stroke.”  Even  so  late  as  1840-41, 
we  find  Macaulay,  in  his  Diary,  complaining  of  the  bitter 
personalities  in  the  House  of  Commons.  *  Speaking  of  the 
debate  on  Stanley’s  Irish  Registration  Bill,  he  says:  “I 
have  never  seen  such  unseemly  demeanor,  or  heard  such 
scurrilous  language,  in  Parliament.  .  .  .  Lord  Maidstone 
was  so  ill-mannered  that  I  hope  he  was  drunk.  .  .  .  O’Con¬ 
nell  was  so  rudely  interrupted  that  he  used  the  expression 
‘  beastly  bellowings.’  Then  rose  such  an  uproar  as  no  0. 
P.  mob  at  Covent  Garden  Theatre,  no  crowd  of  Chartists 
in  front  of  a  hustings,  ever  equaled.  Men  stood  up  on  both 
sides,  shook  their  fists,  and  bawled  at  the  top  of  their  voices. 
.  .  .  O'Connell  raged  like  a  mad  bull.  ...  At  last  the 

tumult  ended  from  absolute  physical  weariness.” 

10 


218 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


The  name  of  Disraeli  (Lord  Beaconsfield)  is  associated 
with  some  of  the  most  stinging  personalities  ever  uttered 
in  the  British  Legislature.  One  of  his  Hebrew  country¬ 
men  declares  that  “  he  cannot  shine  without  offensiveness, 
His  passages  of  arms  are  not  worth  commemorating,  un¬ 
less  he  draws  blood.*'  A  greater  master  of  cool,  polished, 
searching  irony,  ridicule,  and  invective,  probably  never 
stood  within  the  walls  of  St.  Stephen.  It  has  been  truly 
said  of  him,  that  when  he  is  prepared,  not  a  blow  misses; 
not  a  sarcasm  is  impeded  by  a  weakening  phrase.  His 
peculiar  tones,  with  his  provoking  frigidity  of  manner,  and 
affected  contempt  for  his  foe,  add  much  to  the  effect  of  his 
hits.  In  the  Maynooth  debate  of  1845,  he  made  an  attack 
upon  Sir  Robert  Peel,  in  which  he  said  that  “  with  him 
great  measures  were  always  rested  on  small  precedents, 
that  he  always  traced  the  steam-engine  back  to  the  tea¬ 
kettle;  that  in  fact  all  his  precedents  were  tea-kettle 
precedents/'  Again,  in  a  speech  made  m  the  House  of 
Commons  in  1846,  Disraeli  advised  Peel  to  stick  to  quo¬ 
tation,  because  he  never  quoted  any  passage  that  had  not 
previously  received  the  meed  of  parliamentary  “  approba¬ 
tion”;  compared  him  to  the  Turkish  admiral  who  steered 
the  fleet  confided  to  him  straight  into  the  enemy’s  port; 
termed  the  Treasury  Bench  “  political  pedlars  that  bought 
their  party  in  the  cheapest  market  and  sold  us  m  the 
dearest  ” ;  and  compared  the  conversion  of  the  Peelites  to 
that  of  the  Saxons  by  Charlemagne,  “  who,  according  to  the 
chronicle,  were  converted  in  battalions,  and  baptized  in 
platoons.”  Peel  was  the  chief  target  of  Disraeli’s  sarcasms, 
and  so  dull  and  spiritless,  comparatively,  were  his  speeches 
after  Peel’s  death,  that  Shell  compared  him  to  a  dissecting 
surgeon  or  anatomist  without  a  corpse.  Mr.  Roebuck,  whose 


PERSONALITIES  IN  DEBATE.  219 

name  Disraeli  associated  with  “Sadler’s  Wells  sarcasms” 
and  “  melodramatic  malignity,"  was  another  of  his  victims. 
One  of  his  happiest  hits  was  in  a  speech  made  a  few  years 
ago  at  Manchester,  when  he  said:  “As  I  sat  opposite  the 
Treasury  Bench,  the  Ministers  reminded  me  of  those  ma¬ 
rine  landscapes  not  very  unusual  on  the  coast  of  South 
America.  You  behold  a  range  of  exhausted  volcanoes.  Not 
a  flame  flickers  on  a  single  pallid  crest.  But  the  situation 
is  still  dangerous.  There  are  occasional  earthquakes,  and 
ever  and  anon  the  dark  rumbling  of  the  sea.” 

The  example  of  Lord  John  Russell  is  well  worthy  of 
imitation  by  debaters.  There  was  never,  it  is  said,  the 
slightest  acrimony  in  his  personal  allusions.  His  tri¬ 
umphs,  won  easily  by  tact  and  intellectual  keenness,  un¬ 
aided  by  passion,  contrasted  strikingly  with  “  the  costly 
victories  of  debaters  like  Lord  Stanley,  Disraeli,  or  Roe¬ 
buck.”  What  could  be  happier  than  his  reply  to  Sir 
Francis  Burdett,  who  had  accused  him  of  indulging  in 
“the  cant  of  patriotism,” — that  “there  was  also  such  a 
thing  as  the  recant  of  patriotism”?  This  mildness  of 
tone,  this  well-bred,  pungent  raillery,  which  is  now  so 
generally  characteristic  of  the  English  Parliament,  has 
often  proved  a  more  effective  weapon  of  debate  than  the 
most  brilliant  eloquence  or  the  sharpest  wit.  “  It  draws 
a  magic  circle  around  the  speaker,  which  only  similar 
weapons  can  penetrate.” 

The  reply  made  many  years  ago  by  Mr.  Trimble,  of 
Ohio,  to  a  personal  attack  made  on  him  by  the  haughty 
and  fierce  George  McDuffie,  of  South  Carolina,  is  a  happy 
illustration  of  the  way  in  which  personalities,  when  very 
exasperating,  may  sometimes,  without  a  great  breach  of 
decorum,  be  successfully  repelled.  Mr.  McDuffie,  then  a 


220 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


member  of  the  House  of  Representatives,  in  a  speech  upon 
that  floor,  made  a  cunning  and  indirect  assault  upon  Mr. 
Trimble,  then  comparatively  obscure,  and  expectation  was. 
on  tiptoe  to  see  what  course  the  latter  would  adopt.  Every¬ 
body  who  heard  Mr.  McD.  was  well  aware  that  his  re¬ 
marks  were  intended  to  have  a  personal  application;  but 
so  carefully  were  they  guarded  by  skillful  phraseology 
that  to  resent  them  would  seem  like  fitting  to  one’s  back 
a  coat  not  designed  for  his  wearing.  The  next  day,  how¬ 
ever,  Trimble  replied  in  a  speech  of  precisely  the  same 
character.  Covertly,  and  with  wonderful  ingenuity,  he 
attacked  Mr.  McDuffie  in  the  same  style,  making  no  appli¬ 
cation  to  himself  of  the  speech  to  which  he  was  replying, 
—  thus  throwing  upon  his  opponent  all  the  responsibility 
of  a  quarrel.  When  Mr.  Trimble  had  sat  down,  Mr. 
McDuffie  arose,  and,  with  looks  and  tones  of  vehement 
defiance,  demanded  a  direct  answer  to  the  question  whether 
the  member  from  Ohio  meant  to  be  personal  toward  him¬ 
self  in  the  remarks  just  submitted  to  the  House.  Calmly, 
imperturbably,  the  member  from  Ohio  arose,  and  thus 
addressed  the  Speaker:  “The  member  from  South  Caro¬ 
lina  demands  of  me  an  answer  to  his  question.  I  give 
it  to  him  in  a  question  to  himself.  Did  he  mean  to  be 
personal  toward  me,  in  his  remarks  of  yesterday?  If  he 
did,  then  I  did  in  mine  of  to-day.  If  he  did  not,  I  did 
not.  He  has  my  answer.  If  the  gentleman  from  South 
Carolina  meant  nothing  personal  toward  myself  in  the 
remarks  he  yesterday  submitted  to  the  House,  then  I  did 
not  mean  personally  to  reflect  upon  him,  or  may  I  never 
see  the  smile  of  God!  If  the  member  from  South  Carolina 
meant  aught  personal  with  regard  to  me,  then  I  meant 
to  be  just  as  personal  toward  him,  or  may  the  lightnings 


PERSONALITIES  IN  DEBATE. 


221 


of  heaven  blast  me  where  I  stand !”  Mr.  McDuffie  never 
replied.  Who  “  took  most  by  his  motion,1'  the  reader  can 
decide. 

It  has  always  appeared  strange  to  us  that  sagacious, 
thoughtful  men  should,  in  a  deliberative  assembly,  where 
a  majority  of  wills  is  to  be  obtained,  so  entirely  lose  sight 
of  their  interests  as  to  be  discourteous  to  their  associates. 
No  doubt  there  is  something  exciting  in  this  species  of 
intellectual  gladiatorship,  when  private..  animosity  as  well 
as  political  rivalry  sharpens  men's  differences,  and  the  com¬ 
batants,  in  fierce  personal  grapples,  shorten  their  swords 
for  a  death-blow.  The  parliamentary  duello,  when  giants 
engage,  tends  to  bring  out  in  their  perfection  all  the  qual¬ 
ities  of  what  is  then  most  emphatically  “  the  wrestling 
style.”  Unquestionably,  the  sceva  indignatio  of  an  enraged 
man  has  prompted  many  a  burst  of  eloquence  of  which 
his  intellectual  power  has  been  supposed  to  be  the  source. 
“  If  I  wish  to  compose,  or  write,  or  pray,  and  preach  well,” 
Luther  used  to  say,  “  I  must  be  angry  \zornig\  Then 
all  the  blood  in  my  veins  is  stirred,  my  understanding  is 
sharpened,  and  all  dismal  thoughts  and  temptations  are 
dissipated.”  Doubtless  by  “anger”  the  great  Reformer 
meant  what  we  call  indignation,  and,  where  it  is  of  a 
lofty  moral  character,  there  is  nothing  wdiich  gives  a 
greater  projectile  force  or  a  more  permanent  effect  to 
human  thought.  Thackeray's  literary  faculty  was  fully 
equal  to  Swift’s,  but  he  produced  a  far  feebler  impression 
because  he  was  devoid  of  the  stern  indignation, —  the 
strong  capacity  for  hatred, —  which  made  the  Dean  the 
most  terrible  of  satirists.  “Junius  ”  owed  half  his  power 
to  his  fiery  rage.  Take  from  certain  critical  journals  their 
ill-temper  and  impudence,  and  they  would  lose  half  of 


222 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


their  brilliancy.  Persons  who  recollected  Mirabeau  used 
to  say  that  those  who  had  not  seen  him  speaking  under 
the  influence  of  anger,  had  not  seen  him;  that  it  was 
in  his  rages  that  he  was  most  superb.  A  mighty  anger 
gives  prodigious  force  to  a  speech  or  book;  but  for  tem¬ 
porary  purposes,  mere  hatred  of  the  lowest  sort, —  pure 
spite , —  is  a  most  potent  literary  ingredient.  An  exceed¬ 
ingly  small  amount  of  intellectual  power  is  sufficient  to 
produce  a  very  creditable  effect,  if  it  be  fired  by  the 
gunpowder  of  a  little  anger.  A  secret  consciousness  of 
all  this  has,  no  doubt,  led  many  a  speaker  to  open  the 
flood-gates  of  his  wrath;  still,  the  true  orator  will  always 
be  ready  to  sacrifice  himself,  and  his  reputation  for  elo¬ 
quence,  to  gain  his  end;  and  he  should,  therefore,  never 
forget  that  to  conciliate  is  one  of  the  chief  arts  and  ends 
of  debate. 

The  authority  of  intellect  is  hard  enough  to  maintain, 
even  with  the  utmost  winningness  of  manner  and  the 
blandishments  of  rhetoric.  Unlike  personal  majesty,  or 
the  soul-subduing  fascination  of  beauty,  which  are  palpa¬ 
ble  to  the  eye,  it  is  an  authority  founded  on  opinion. — 
the  opinion  of  associates;  it  is  an  ideal  supremacy,  which 
men  readily  deny  when  they  choose,  and  always  acknowl¬ 
edge  with  reluctance.  A  haughty,  supercilious  speaker 
on  a  legislative  floor,  who  constantly  assumes  an  air  and 
an  attitude  of  menace  or  defiance,  and  who  vents  on  his 
opponents  a  deluge  of  angry  invectives,  is  a  positive  injury 
to  his  constituents.  Real  intellectual  blows,  logical  hard¬ 
hitting,  the  stern  cut-and-thrust  of  mind,  none  will  object 
to;  but  the  effect  of  these  on  a  high-minded  opponent  is 
very  different  from  that  of  scorn  or  ridicule.  So  is  the 
effect  of  playful  wit  or  humor,  as  when  Sir  John  Doyle, 


PERSONALITIES  IN  DERATE. 


223 


after  a  speech  in  the  Irish  Parliament  by  Dr.  Duigenan, 
a  very  dark-featured  man,  against  the  Catholic  claims, 
extinguished  its  effect  by  the  Horatian  line,  “  Hie  niger 
est,  hunc  tu  Romane  caveto,"  which  convulsed  the  House, 
—  or,  when  Lord  North,  in  reply  to  a  fiery  declaimer,  who, 
after  calling  for  his  head,  denounced  him  for  sleeping, 
complained  how  cruel  it  was  to  be  denied  a  solace  which 
other  criminals  so  often  enjoyed, —  that  of  having  a  night’s 
rest  before  execution;  or  when,  in  reply  to  a  dull,  tedious 
speaker,  who  made  a  similar  charge,  he  declared  that  it 
was  unjust  in  the  gentleman  to  blame  him  for  taking 
the  remedy  which  he  himself  had  been  so  considerate  as 
to  administer.  How  happy  his  answer  to  an  opponent 
who  spoke  of  him  as  “that  thing  called  a  Minister!”  “To 
be  sure,”  he  said,  patting  his  portly  sides,  “  I  am  ‘  a  thing'; 
when,  therefore,  the  gentleman  called  me  ‘  a  thing,’  he 
said  what  was  true,  and  I  could  not  be  angry  with  him. 
But  when  he  added,  ‘  that  thing  called  a  Minister,’  he 
called  me  that  thing  which  of  all  others  he  himself  most 
wished  to  be,  and  therefore  I  took  it  as  a  compliment.” 
Such  good  humor  and  imperturbability  can  never  be  con¬ 
quered.  For  years*  Lord  North  carried  on  the  contest, 
almost  single-handed,  against  Fox,  Burke,  Barre,  Dunning, 
and  sometimes  even  Pitt,  with  the  same  genial  spirit  and 
jocularity,  which  nothing  but  a  scandalous  false  quantity 
by  Burke  could  lessen  or  disturb,  and,  when  finally  driven 

from  office  bv  a  resistless  combination  of  misfortunes  and 
«/ 

foes,  he  retired  with  the  politest  of  bows  and  the  blandest 
of  smiles. 

It  must  be  admitted,  again,  that  occasions  do  sometimes 
occur  in  debate  when  plain,  blunt  words, —  “words  stript 
of  their  shirts,”  as  an  old  poet  calls  them, —  may,  nay  must, 


224 


ORATORY  ANI)  ORATORS. 


be  used;  and  we  must  not  confound  the  just  though  severe 
language  of  honest  indignation,  provoked  by  villainy  or 
meanness,  with  that  of  him  who  is  always  ready  to 

“  Unpack  his  heart  in  words, 

And  fall  a-cursing  like  a  very  drab, 

A  scullion.'” 

There  is  a  wide  difference  between  the  vituperation  of  a 
porter  and  that  of  a  poet.  The  one  recoils  from  the  object 
of  assault,  and  impinges  upon  the  assailant;  the  other 
leaves  a  scar  that  can  never  be  obliterated.  The  one,  as 
Christopher  North  says,  is  “like  mud  thrown  by  a  brutal 
boor  on  the  gateway  of  some  glorious  edifice”;  the  other 
is  a  flash  of  lightning  from  on  high,  that  brands  a  Cain- 
mark  on  the  forehead,  which  makes  it  repulsive  forever. 
After  making  all  deductions,  nevertheless,  it  must  be  ad¬ 
mitted  that  the  discreet  speaker,  who  wishes  to  convince 
or  persuade,  will  abstain  from  personalities.  When  a  man 
is  smarting  under  the  stings  of  a  merciless  sarcasm,  he 
is  as  impassive  to  reason  as  if  he  were  drunk  or  mad. 
For  the  sake  of  their  own  reputation,  therefore, —  as  con¬ 
vincing  debaters,  to  say  nothing  of  the  interests  they 
advocate, —  members  of  legislative  bodies  should  beware  of 
rousing  to  obstinacy  their  associates,  by  violating  the  cour¬ 
tesy  which  should  mark  the  collision,  not  less  than  the 
friendly  intercourse,  of  cultivated  and  polished  minds.  We 
might  add  that  the  meanest  insect  has  its  sting,  and  that 
men  who  wantonly  seek  to  wound  their  inferiors,  whom 
they  deem  incapable  of  defending  themselves,  often,  in 
the  blindness  of  their  insolence,  tread  on  a  scorpion  in¬ 
stead  of  a  worm,  and  receive  a  sting  •  where  they  only 
anticipated  the  pleasure  of  seeing  a  victim  writhe.  It  is 
said  of  Dr.  Priestley  that,  in  all  his  controversies,  verbal 


PERSONALITIES  IN  DEBATE. 


225 


or  written,  lie  never  gave  offense  by  an  allusion  or  a 
word;  and  we  may  add , that  Lord  Castlereagh,  who  was 
so  successful  in  the  British  Parliament,  carried  ten  points 
by  his  good  humor,  courtesy,  and  personal  influence,  to 
every  one  that  he  carried  by  his  logic.  These  qualities 
made  him  a  favorite  with  the  House  of  Commons,  though 
he  sorely  taxed  its  patience,  and  sometimes  tried  its 
gravity;  as  when  he  spoke  of  “the  Herculean  labor  of  the 
honorable  and  learned  member,  who  will  find  himself  quite 
disappointed  when  at  last  he  brings  forth  his  Hercules .” 

On  the  other  hand,  O’Connell,  mighty  as  was  his  elo¬ 
quence,  neutralized  its  influence  in  a  great  measure  by 
the  frequency  and  bitterness  of  his  sarcasms.  It  was 
said  of  him  that  his  mind  consisted  of  two  compart¬ 
ments, —  the  one  inhabited  by  the  purest  angels,  the  other 
by  the  vilest  demons, —  and  that  the  occupation  of  his  life 
was  to  transfer  his  friends  from  the  one  to  the  other.  The 
Duke  of  Wellington  he  stigmatized  as  “a  stunted  corpo¬ 
ral”;  while  to  other  opponents  he  applied  such  terms  as 
“  a  mighty  big  liar,”  or  “a  lineal  descendant  of  the  impeni¬ 
tent  thief,”  or  “a  titled  buffoon,”  or  “a  contumelious  cur,” 
or  “a  pig,”  or  “a  scorpion.”  A  speaker  who  uses  such 
epithets  puts  himself  beyond  the -pale  of  courtesy;  and  we 
are  not  surprised,  therefore,  to  learn  that  the  great  agi¬ 
tator  prejudiced  all  moderate  men  against  him,  embar¬ 
rassed  his  action  in  the  House  of  Commons,  and  finally 
drew  down  upon  himself  its  formal  reprimand. 


CHAPTER  IX. 


POLITICAL  ORATORS!  ENGLISH. 

“  We,  we  have  seen  the  intellectual  race 
Of  giants  stand,  like  Titans,  face  to  face, — 

Athos  and  Ida.— with  a  dashing  sea 
Of  eloquence  between,  which  flowed  all  free. 

As  the  deep  billows  of  the  HCgean  roar 

Betwixt  the  Hellenic  and  the  Pelasgic  shore.”— Byron. 


F  modern  countries,  no  one,  except  perhaps  France, 


has  been  more  prolific  of  great  orators  than  Great 
Britain.  It  is,  however,  a  remarkable  fact,  that,  though 
there  were  great  debaters,  there  w^as  hardly  one  preeminent 
orator  in  England  till  the  time  of  the  brilliant  and  versa¬ 
tile  Bolingbroke.  Ben  Jonson  has  left  us  a  memorial  of 
Bacon’s  way  of  speaking,  and  those  who  are  familiar  with 
the  “Essays”  and  the  “Advancement  of  Learning”  can 
easily  imagine  with  what  majesty  he  spoke,  and  what  illu¬ 
minations  of  original  thought  characterized  his  addresses. 
As  an  orator,  he  was  stately,  weighty,  and  convincing, — the 
very  opposite  of  a  declaimer.  A  studied  speaker,  he  affected 
gravity  and  wise  sententiousness;  speaking  “  leisurely,  and 
rather  drawlingly  than  hastily,”  on  the  principle  that  “  a 
slow  speech  comfirmeth  the  memory, —  addeth  a  conceit  of 
wisdom  to  the  hearers,  besides  a  seemliness  of  speech  and 
countenance.”  “No  man,”  says  Jonson,  “spoke  more  press- 
ly,  or  suffered  less  emptiness,  less  idleness  in  what  he  ut¬ 
tered.  His  hearers  could  not  cough,  or  look  aside  from 
him  without  loss.  He  commanded  where  he  spoke,  and  had 


POLITICAL  ORATORS  —  BOLINGBROKE. 


227 


his  judges  angry  and  pleased  at  his  discretion.  The  fear 
of  every  one  that  heard  him  was  that  he  should  make  an 
end.”  During  the  Commonwealth,  when  the  highest  in¬ 
terests  were  imperilled,  and  men's  hearts  were  stirred  to 
their  very  depths,  neither  Cavaliers  nor  Puritans  put  for¬ 
ward  a  single  great  orator.  Strafford,  indeed,  defended 
himself  with  genuine  eloquence;  but  in  vain  shall  we  look 
elsewhere  for  great  thoughts  conveyed  in  burning  words, 
or  for  maxims  which  have  become  the  current  coin  of  the 
realm.  The  speeches  of  Pym  are  able,  but  tedious  and 
dreary,  and  we  wonder  that  enthusiasm  could  ever  have 
found  expression  in  language  so  cold  and  spiritless.  At 
the  Restoration  the  style  of  speaking  changed;  “the  Cava¬ 
liers  were  men  of  the  world,  who  talked  the  language  of 
the  world.  They  flung  aside  that  heavy  scholastic  garb 
which  stifled  sentiments  instead  of  adorning  them,  and 
made  a  closer  approximation  to  simplicity  and  to  nature.” 
It  was  not  till  Queen  Anne’s  reign,  that  parliamentary  elo¬ 
quence  took  the  form  which  it  wears  to-day,  and  of  that 
reign  the  foremost  speaker  was  Bolingbroke. 

To  the  rare  gifts  of  this  remarkable  man  all  his  con¬ 
temporaries  have  testified  in  the  most  enthusiastic  terms. 
Nature  seems  to  have  lavished  upon  him  nearly  all  the 
qualities  necessary  to  a  great  parliamentary  speaker.  Tall, 
graceful,  with  handsome  features  lit  up  from  time  to  time 
by  the  fire  in  his  eyes,  or  his  bright,  winning  smile, —  pos¬ 
sessing  a  rich,  musical  voice,  of  more  than  ordinary  modu¬ 
lation  and  power,  and  an  easy,  impressive  action, —  he 
added  to  these  advantages  an  unrivalled  quickness  of  ap¬ 
prehension,  a  logical  understanding,  a  lively  fancy,  a 
sparkling  wit,  an  exquisite  taste,  and  a  memory  so  tena¬ 
cious  that  he  was  wont  to  complain  of  it  as  inconvenient, 


228 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


and  to  allege  it  as  an  excuse  for  limiting  his  reading  to  the 
best  authors.  Still  further  to  qualify  him  for  leadership, 
he  had  read  all  the  best  Latin  authors,  had  acquired  a 
thorough  knowledge  of  the  best  writers  in  the  English  and 
other  modern  languages,  had  given  considerable  time  to 
metaphysics,  and  to  an  unusual  acquaintance  with  ancient 
had  added -a  consummate  knowledge  of  modern  history. 
Besides  all  these  qualifications,  he  had  the  fire  and  energy 
which  belong  to  genius  only;  and  such,  we  are  told,  was 
his  facility  of  expression,  that  even  in  the  abandonment 
of  familiar  conversation,  his  words  would  have  stood  the 
test  of  the  severest  criticism.  He  spoke  with  such  taste 
and  accuracy  that  his  language  might  have  been  printed, 
without  discredit  to  him,  as  it  fell  from  his  lips.  Lastly, 
he  had,  what  was  a  more  signal  advantage  in  those  days 
than  now,  the  prestige  of  high  birth  and  ample  fortune. 

Entering  Parliament  at  the  age  of  twenty-two,  he  won 
almost  at  a  bound  the  reputation  of  being  the  most  bril¬ 
liant  and  fascinating  orator  of  his  time.  His  fastidious 
contemporaries  regarded  his  eloquence  as  almost  super¬ 
natural.  Chesterfield,  himself  an  accomplished  speaker, 
pronounces  him  the  model  ideal  orator,  and  Chatham,  the 
only  Englishman  who  could  contest  his  claim  to  the  palm, 
declared  that  he  would  rather  win  from  oblivion  Lord 
Bolingbroke’s  unreported  speeches  than  the  lost  books  of 
Livy, — an  opinion  indorsed  by  the  severer  taste  of  Chat¬ 
ham’s  son.  Unfortunately  not  one  of  the  speeches  of  the 
British  Alcibiades  has  come  down  to  us;  and  therefore, 
though  we  may  criticise,  if  we  please,  the  theatrical  tone 
of  Chatham,  or  the  floridity  of  Sheridan’s  Begum  effusion, 
we  must  accept  the  uniform  traditional  reports  of  Boling¬ 
broke’s  eloquence,  as  we  admit  the  greatness  of  Garrick 


POLITICAL  ORATORS  —  BOLINGBROKE. 


229 


as  an  actor.  Of  one  department  of  oratory  he  was,  be¬ 
yond  dispute,  a  consummate  master.  In  invective,  at 
once  passionate  and  dignified,  furious  yet  not  extravagant, 
lie  had  no  equal.  No  other  speaker  of  his  age  could  bend 
that  silver  bow,  or  launch  those  deadly  arrows.  Perhaps 
the  highest  tribute  ever  paid  to  his  oratorical  genius  was 
that  paid  by  his  old  enemy,  Sir  Robert  Walpole,  the 
British  premier.  When  Bolingbroke’s  attainder  was  re¬ 
moved,  and  he  was  allowed  to  return  from  banishment 
and  resume  his  family  estate  in  England,  he  was  not 
allowed  to  resume  his  seat  in  the  House  of  Peers.  All 
else  was  restored  to  him,  but  the  sagacious  premier  dared 
not  restore  to  his  adversary  the  privilege  of  raising  his 
voice  in  Parliament,  lest  the  throne  of  the  Guelph  should 
reel  before  the  sound  of  its  trumpet-peal, —  a  tacit  homage 
to  his  eloquence  which  far  transcends  any  spoken  praise. 

Though  Bolingbroke’s  speeches  have  not  come  down 
to  us,  yet  his  writings  have,  and  from  these  we  can  form 
an  idea,  not  altogether  inadequate,  of  his  powers  as  an 
orator.  Generally  there  is  a  great  difference  between  a 
man’s  styles  as  a  writer  and  a  speaker;  but  Bolingbroke 
was  an  exception  to  the  rule.  His  style  is  clear,  nervous, 
flowing,  idiomatic,  attractively  colored,  and  tastefully  em¬ 
bellished,  manifesting  much  of  Addison’s  elegance  without 
his  tameness,  and  the  sententious  dignity  of  Johnson  with¬ 
out  his  pomposity.  It  abounds  especially  in  periodical 
climax,  and  signally  illustrates  Quintilian’s  rule  for  sen¬ 
tential  increase,  augere  debent  sententiae  et  insurgere.  Few 
writers  have  combined  in  so  happy  proportions  the  Latin 
and  the  Saxon  elements  of  our  tongue.  Chesterfield  de¬ 
clared  that  till  he  read  Bolingbroke,  he  did  not  know  the 
extent  and  power  of  the  English  language;  it  was  not 


230 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


a  studied  or  labored  eloquence,  he  said,  but  a  flowing 
happiness  of  expression.  A  recent  English  writer  says: 
“  I  unhesitatingly  place  him  at  the  head  of  all  the  prose 
writers  of  our  language."  *  Among  his  most  striking 
merits  are  the  beauty  and  propriety  of  his  images  and 
illustrations,  which  are  never  introduced  for  mere  orna¬ 
ment,  but  to  support  the  argument  they  adorn, —  like 
buttresses,  which,  however  relieved  with  tracery,  add  an 
air  of  solidity  to  the  building  they  prop.  In  his  Letter 
to  Windham,  he  says:  “The  ocean  which  environs  us  is 
an  emblem  of  our  government,  and  the  pilot  and  the 
minister  are  in  similar  circumstances.  It  seldom  happens 
that  either  of  them  can  steer  a  direct  course,  and  they  both 
arrive  at  their  port  by  means  which  frequently  seem  to 
carry  them  from  it.”  Again,  in  “  The  Spirit  of  Patriotism,” 
he  says:  “Eloquence  must  flow  like  a  stream  that  is  fed 
by  an  abundant  spring,  and  not  spout  forth  a  little  frothy 
water  on  some  gaudy  day,  and  remain  dry  all  the  rest 
of  the  year.” 

Lord  Lytton  says  truly  of  Bolingbroke,  that  his  sen¬ 
tences  “flow  loose  as  if  disdainful  of  verbal  care;  yet 
throughout  all  there  reigns  the  senatorial  decorum.  The 
folds  of  the  toga  are  not  arranged  to  show  off  the 
breadth  of  the  purple  hem;  the  wearer  knows  too  well 
that,  however  the  folds  may  fall,  the  hem  cannot  fail  to  be 
seen.”  It  is  an  interesting  fact  noted  by  the  latest  bi¬ 
ographer  of  Bolingbroke,  that  his  literary  works  resemble 
spoken  eloquence  far  more  than  those  of  any  other  man 
that  ever  wrote.  They  are  clearly  the  composition  of  an 
orator,  who,  being  prevented  from  addressing  an  audi¬ 
ence  by  word  of  mouth,  uses  the  pen  as  his  instrument, 

*  “  Memoirs  of  Eminent  Etonians,”  by  Sir  Edward  Creasy. 


POLITICAL  ORATORS  —  BOLINGBROKE.  231 

and  writes  what  he  would  have  spoken.  Not  only  is  his 
method,  or  rather  lack  of  method,  oratorical,  discussing 
the  subject  as  he  does  in  the  first  way  that  presents  it¬ 
self,  and  handling  it  skillfully,  earnestly  and  strikingly 
in  many  of  its  parts,  but  never  exhausting  it, —  but  the 
diction,  as  Lord  Brougham  remarks,  “  is  eminently  that 
of  oratorical  works.  It  is  bold,  rapid,  animated,  yet 
pointed  and  correct,  bearing  the  closest  scrutiny  of  the 
critic  when  submitted  to  the  eye  in  the  hour  of  calm  judg¬ 
ment,  but  admiringly  calculated  to  fill  the  ear,  and  carry 
away  the  feelings  in  the  moment  of  excitement.1'  Again, 
it  is  well  known  that  he  disliked  the  mechanical  drudg¬ 
ery  of  writing;  that  he  could  not  bear  to  develop  his 
ideas  on  paper  with  the  pen,  but  employed  an  amanuensis, 
and  dictated  many  of  his  literary  productions.  “  When  he 
wrote,’1  says  Mr.  Macknight,  “he  was  addressing  an  imagi¬ 
nary  audience,  exciting  imaginary  cheers,  and  frequently 
defying  and  assailing  a  hated  rival,  who  was  not  at  all 
imaginary;  but  whether  in  youth  or  age, —  while  St.  John, 
speaking  in  the  House  of  Commons,  or,  as  Viscount  Bol- 
ingbroke,  composing  the  letters  to  the  ‘Craftsman,1 — still 
the  same  unconquered  and  unconquerable  foe.11 

Lord  Brougham,  at  the  end  of  his  well-known  sketch 
of  Bolingbroke,  expresses  the  opinion  that  if  the  con¬ 
curring  accounts  of  witnesses,  and  the  testimony  to  his 
speeches  borne  by  his  writings,  may  be  trusted,  “  he  must 
be  pronounced  to  stand,  upon  the  whole,  at  the  head  of 
modern  orators.  There  may  have  been  more  measure 
and  matured  power  in  Pitt,  more  fire  in  the  occasional 
bursts  of  Chatham,  more  unbridled  vehemence,  more  intent 
reasoning  in  Fox,  more  deep-toned  declamation  in  passages 
of  Chatham,  more  learned  imagery  in  Burke,  more  wit 


232 


ORATORY  ANT)  ORATORS. 


and  humor  in  Canning;  but,  as  a  whole,  and  taking  in 
all  rhetorical  gifts,  and  all  the  orator’s  accomplishments, 
no  one,  perhaps  hardly  the  union  of  several  of  them, 
can.  match  what  we  are  taught  by  tradition  to  admire 
in  Bolingbroke’s  spoken  eloquence,  and  what  the  study 
of  his  works  makes  us  easily  believe  to  be  true.” 

Far  above  Bolingbroke,  we  think  (notwithstanding  the 
high  authority  just  quoted),  and  overtopping  every  other 
orator  Great  Britain  has  produced,  stands  Lord  Chatham. 
It  was  in  1736  that  the  voice  of  “the  great  Commoner” 
was  first  heard  within  the  walls  of  Parliament,  eliciting 
from  Sir  Robert  Walpole  the  exclamation,  “We  must 
muzzle  that  terrible  cornet  of  horse.”  Few  orators  of  equal 
fame  have  been,  in  some  respects,  so  poorly  equipped. 
Great  as  was  his  genius,  it  was  far  from  being  well-bal¬ 
anced  and  disciplined;  there  was,  indeed,  a  certain  mixture 
of  splendor  and  slovenliness  in  his  character.  Dr.  King 
declared  that  he  had  no  learning,  and  Lord  Chesterfield  that 
not  only  did  he  have  very  little  political  knowledge,  but 
that  his  matter  was  generally  flimsy,  and  his  arguments 
often  weak.  His  sister,  Mrs.  Anne  Pitt,  used  to  say  sarcas¬ 
tically  that  he  had  read  no  book  but  the  “  Faery  Queen.”  It 
is  well  known,  however,  that,  to  gain  ajmastery  of  language, 
he  translated  the  speeches  of  Demosthenes  into  English,  and 
pondered  over  the  weighty  periods  of  Barrow  till  he  had 
many  of  his  long  and  exhaustive  sermons  almost  by  heart. 
He  also  read  Bailey’s  Dictionary  twice  through,  and  even 
articulated  before  a  glass  to  perfect  the  use  of  his  native 
tongue.  But  though  his  intellectual  acquisitions  were  com¬ 
paratively  slender,  few  men  have  received  from  nature  so 
many  of  the  outward  qualifications  of  the  orator.  In  his 


POLITICAL  ORATORS  —  CHATHAM. 


233 


best  days,  before  lie  was  crippled  by  the  gout,  he  had  a  tall 
and  striking  figure,  an  imposing  attitude,  aquiline  and  noble 
features,  and  a  glance  of  fire.  His  voice  was  a  marvel¬ 
lous  combination  of  sweetness  and  strength.  It  had  all 
the  silvery  sweetness  of  a  Clay’s  or  a  Phillips’s,  and  was 
distinctly  heard  even  when  it  sank  to  a  whisper;  its  middle 
notes  were  charming  and  beautifully  varied,  while  its 
higher  tones,  which  completely  filled  the  House,  pealed 
and  thrilled  like  the  swell  of  some  majestic  organ.  “The 
effect  was  awful,”  says  one  who  heard  him,  “  except  when 
he  wished  to  cheer  or  animate;  then  he  had  spirit-stirring 
notes  which  were  perfectly  irresistible.” 

His  speeches,  as  they  have  come  down  to  us,  are  con¬ 
fessedly  fragments;  but  even  these  “shreds  of  unconnected 
eloquence  ”  are  without  a  parallel.  They  blaze  with  the 
authentic  fire  of  the  imagination, —  of  the  imagination  m 
the  full  sweep  of  excited  and  overmastering  feeling.  They 
are  the  masterful  words  of  a  great  man;  haughty  and  ar¬ 
rogant  words  sometimes,  no  doubt,  but  haughty  and  arro¬ 
gant  because  the  speaker,  in  the  pride  of  his  integrity, 
scorned  from  the  depths  of  his  soul  all  meanness,  and 
baseness,  and  finesse.  Grattan  said  of  his  eloquence,  that 
it  was  an  era  in  the  Senate;  that  it  resembled  sometimes 
the  thunder,  and  sometimes  the  music,  of  the  spheres  In 
purely  'physical  influence  over  his  audience  he  was  never 
surpassed.  No  other  orator  ever  approached  him  in  the 
sway  which  he  exercised  over  his  hearers,  while  the  spell 
of  his  voice,  his  eye,  his  tones,  his  gestures,  was  upon  them. 
He  entered  the  lists  like  a  gladiator.  Seizing  on  some 
stronghold  in  the  argument, —  some  stubborn  fact, —  he 
held  it  with  a  giant’s  grasp.  He  did  not  argue  with  his 

opponents,  but  asserted;  he  wrested  their  weapons  out  of 

10* 


234 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS'. 


their  hands  by  main  force.  The  ipsi  dixi ,  the  “  I  affirm,*’ 
“  I  am  ready  to  maintain,”  “  I  pledge  myself  to  prove,” 
constituted  all  his  logic. 

In  moments  of  intense  passion  he  was  like  the  Sibyl  on 
her  tripod.  The  oldest  member,  the  hardiest  wit  of  the 
House,  quailed  before  “  the  terrors  of  his  beak  and  the 
lightning  of  his  eye.*’  Having  a  perfect  mastery  of  his 
subject,  a  thorough  conviction,  an  intense  interest,  he 
instinctively  and  unavoidably,  by  his  vehemence  of  man¬ 
ner,  his  tones,  his  commanding  attitudes  and  eager  ges¬ 
tures,  conveyed  these  to  his  hearers.  His  will  was  sur¬ 
charged  with  electric  matter,  and  all  who  stood  within  its 
reach  felt  the  force  of  the  shock.  Employing  a  bold,  brief, 
and  pointed  mode  of  expressing  daring  truths,  sometimes 
by  metaphor,  sometimes  by  antithesis,  and  possessing  a 
spirit  as  dauntless  as  his  language,  he  defied  contradiction, 
and  any  attempt  to  check  him  only  drew  from  him  an  in¬ 
dignant  and  defiant  repetition  of  the  offense. 

Never  was  there  a  more  terrible  antagonist, —  one  who 
awed  his  opponents  more  by  the  fierceness  and  boldness 
of  his  invectives,  or  roused  popular  enthusiasm  to  a  higher 
pitch  by  the  short  and  vehement  sentences  in  which  he 
embodied  the  feverish  passions  of  the  hour.  It  is  said 
that  once  in  the  House  of  Commons  he  began  a  speech  with 
the  words,  “Sugar,  Mr.  Speaker,” — and  then,  seeing  a 
smile  pervade  the  audience,  he  paused,  glared  fiercely 
around,  and,  with  a  loud  voice,  rising  in  his  notes,  and 
swelling  into  vehement  anger,  he  pronounced  again  the 
word  “Sugar!”  three  times.  Having  thus  quelled  the 
House,  and  dispelled  every  appearance  of  levity  or  laugh¬ 
ter,  he  turned  round  and  scornfully  asked:  “Who  will 
laugh  at  sugar  now?"  Charles  Butler  states  in  his  “Re- 


POLITICAL  ORATORS  —  CHATHAM. 


235 


miniscences”  that  on  another  occasion  Lord  Chatham  rose 
and  walked  out  of  the  House,  at  his  usual  slow  pace, 
immediately  after  he  had  finished  his  speech.  A  silence 
ensued  till  the  door  opened  to  let  him  into  the  lobby;  and 
then  a  member  started  up,  saying,  “  I  rise  to  reply  to  the 
honorable  member.’’  Lord  Chatham  turned  back,  and 
fixed  his  eye  on  the  orator,  who  instantly  sat  down  dumb; 
then  his  lordship  returned  to  his  seat,  repeating,  as  he 
hobbled  along,  the  verses  of  Virgil: 

“At  Danaum  proceres,  Agamemnoniaeque  phalanges, 

Ut  videre  virum  fulgentiaque  arma  per  umbras 
Ingenfri  trepidare  metu :  pars  vertere  terga. 

Cen  quondam  petiere*  rates :  pars  tollere  vocem 
Exiguam:  inceptus  clamor  frustratur  Mantes.” 

Then,  placing  himself  in  his  seat,  he  exclaimed:  “Now 
let  me  hear  what  the  honorable  member  has  to  say  to  me.” 
When  Mr.  Butler  asked  the  person,  an  eye-witness,  from 
whom  he  obtained  this  anecdote,  if  the  House  did  not  laugh 
at  the  ridiculous  figure  of  the  poor  member,  he  replied: 
“No,  sir,  we  were  all  too  awed  to  laugh.'' 

Mr.  Butler  gives  another  still  more  striking  illustration 
of  the  manner  in  which  the  haughty  orator  overawed  his 
associates.  Moreton,  Chief  Justice  of  Chester,  happened  to 
say  in  the  House,  “  King,  Lords,  and  Commons,  or  (looking 
at  the  first  Pitt)  as  that  right  honorable  member  would 
term  them,  Commons,  Lords,  and  King.”  Pitt  called  him 
to  order,  and  desired  the  words  to  be  taken  down.  They 
were  written  down  by  the  clerk.  “  Bring  them  to  me,” 
said  Pitt,  in  his  loftiest  tone.  By  this  time  Moreton  was 
frightened  out  of  his  senses.  “  Sir,”  he  stammered  out, 
addressing  the  Speaker,  “  I  am  sorry  to  have  given  any 
offense  to  the  right  honorable  member  or  to  the  House. 
I  meant  nothing.  King,  Lords,  and  Commons, —  Lords, 


236 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


King,  and  Commons, —  Commons,  Lords,  and  King:  tria 
juncta  in  uno.  I  meant  nothing;  indeed,  I  meant  noth¬ 
ing.”  Pitt  rose:  “  I  don’t  wish  to  push  the  matter  further. 
The  moment  a  man  acknowledges  his  error,  he  ceases  to 
be  guilty.  I  have  a  great  regard  for  the  honorable  mem¬ 
ber,  and  as  an  instance  of  that  regard,  I  give  him  this 
advice:  whenever  he  means  nothing,  I  recommend  him  to 
say  nothing.”  It  was  the  dramatic  genius  of  Chatham, 
his  perfect  acting,  that  achieved  these  victories;  without 
it,  some  of  his  most  splendid  bursts  would  have  been 
failures.  So  consummate  were  his  gesture  and  delivery, 
that  Horace  Walpole  often  calls  him  “Old  Garrick.” 

Even  the  infirmities  of  Chatham  were  turned  to  ac¬ 
count;  his  flannel  bandage  aided  his  touches  of  pathos,  and 
even  his  crutch  became  a  weapon  of  oratoiy.  It  is  true 
he  was  singularly  j^oxdy ;  yet  in  this  very  trick  of  ver¬ 
bal  reduplication  lies  half  his  strength.  Such  pleonasms 
as  “I  was  credulous,  I  was  duped,  I  was  deceived,” — “It 
was  unjust,  groundless,  illiberal,  unmanly,”  occur  again 
and  again. — “  I  am  astonished ,  I  am  shocked,  to  hear  such 
principles  confessed  ;  to  hear  them  avowed  in  this  House 
and  in  this  country.” — “  The  country  was  sold  at  the  late 
peace;  it  was  sold  by  the  Court  of  Turin  to  the  Court  of 
France.” — “A  breach  has  been  made  in  the  Constitution, — 
the  battlements  are  dismantled,  the  citadel  is  open  to  the 
first  invader,  the  walls  totter,  the  place  is  no  longer  ten¬ 
able;  what  then  remains  for  us  but  to  stand  foremost  in 
the  breach,  to  repair  it,  or  to  perish  in  it?”  “To  main¬ 
tain  this  principle  is  the  common  cause  of  the  Whigs  on 
the  other  side  of  the  Atlantic  and  on  this.  ‘  ’Tis  liberty 
to  liberty  engaged,’  that  they  will  defend  themselves,  their 
families,  and  their  country.  In  this  cause  they  are  im- 


POLITICAL  ORATORS  —  CHATHAM. 


237 


movably  allied;  it  is  the  alliance  of  God  and  of  nature, — 
immutable ,  eternal , — fixed  as  the  firmament  of  heaven .” 

Like  Danton,  he  relied  on  I'audace,  as  in  the  famous 
passage  where  he  declared,  “I  rejoice  that  America  has 
resisted,”  and  when,  with  even  more  defiance,  he  said:  “I 
hope  some  dreadful  calamity  will  befall  the  country,  that 
may  open  the  eyes  of  the  King.”  Here,  according  to 
Grattan,  he  introduced  an  allusion  to  the  figure  drawing 
the  curtains  of  Priam,  and  gave  the  quotation,  when  he 
was  called  to  order,  but  went  on:  “  What  I  have  spoken  I 
have  spoken  conditionally,  and  I  now  retract  the  condition. 
I  speak  it  absolutely,  and  I  hope  that  some  signal  calamity 
ivill  befall  the  country.”  He  bore  down  all  by  his  inten¬ 
sity,  by  reiterating  blow  upon  blow,  as  upon  an  anvil. 
“  I  say  we  must  necessarily  undo  these  violent,  oppressive 
acts.  They  must  be  repealed.  You  will  repeal  them.  I 
pledge  myself  for  it  that  you  will  in  the  end  repeal  them. 
I  stake  my  reputation  on  it.  I  will  consent  to  be  taken  for 
an  idiot,  if  they  are  not  finally  repealed.”  “  Conquer  the 
Americans!”  he  exclaimed:  “I  might  as  well  think  of 
driving  them  before  me  with  this  crutch!”  “I  come  not 
here  armed  at  all  points  with  law-cases  and  acts  of  par¬ 
liament,  with  the  statute-book  doubled  down  in  dogs-ears ,  to 
defend  the  cause  of  liberty ,”  he  exclaimed  with  superb  scorn, 
in  answer  to  Grenville’s  argument  upon  the  right  to  tax 
the  colonies.  Again,  addressing  the  Administration  of 
Lord  North,  he  said:  “Such  are  your  well-known  charac¬ 
ters  and  abilities,  that  sure  I  am  that  any  plan  of  recon¬ 
ciliation,  however  moderate,  wise,  and  feasible,  must  fail 
in  your  hands.  Who,  then,  can  wonder  that  you  should 
put  a  negative  on  any  measure  which  must  annihilate  your 
power,  deprive  you  of  your  emoluments,  and  at  once 


238 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


reduce  you  to  that  state  of  insignificance  for  which  God 
and  nature  designed  you?  ” 

Never  was  there  an  orator  who  spoke  more  completely 
from  the  impulse  of  the  moment.  Bestowing  no  care  on 
his  language,  imagery,  or  illustrations,  he  poured  out  his 
thoughts  just  as  they  rose  in  his  teeming  and  fiery  brain; 
and  when  he  rose,  stirred  to  anger  by  some  sudden  sub¬ 
terfuge  of  corruption  or  device  of  tyranny,  there  was 
heard  an  eloquence  never  surpassed  in  ancient  or  modern 
times.  Eloquent  as  he  was,  however,  he  impressed  every 
hearer  with  the  conviction  that  the  man  was  greater  than 
the  orator.  His  whole  manner  was  kingly.  He  was  one 
of  nature’s  autocrats,  to  whom  men  yielded  by  instinct. 
“  There  was  a  grandeur  in  his  personal  appearance,”  says 
a  writer  who  speaks  of  him  in  his  decline,  “  which  pro¬ 
duced  awe  and  mute  attention ;  and  though  bowed  by 
infirmity  and  age,  his  mind  shone  through  the  ruins  of 
his  body,  armed  his  eye  with  lightning,  and  clothed  his 
lip  with  thunder.”  “  He  was  born  an  orator,”  says 
Wilkes,  “  and  from  nature  possessed  every  outward  re¬ 
quisite  to  bespeak  respect,  and  even  awe;  a  manly  figure, 
with  the  eagle  eye  of  the  great  Conde,  fixed  your  atten¬ 
tion,  and  almost  commanded  reverence  the  moment  he 
appeared;  and  the  keen  lightning  of  his  eye  spoke  the 
high  respect  of  his  soul  before  his  lips  had  pronounced  a 
syllable.  There  was  a  kind  of  fascination  in  his  look 
when  he  eyed  any  one  askance.  Nothing  could  withstand 
the  force  of  that  contagion.  The  fluent  Murray  has  fal¬ 
tered,  and  even  Fox  shrunk  back  appalled  from  an  ad¬ 
versary  ‘  fraught  with  fire  unquenchable,’  if  I  may  bor¬ 
row  an  expression  of  our  great  Milton.”  Even  Franklin 
lost  his  coolness,  when  speaking  of  Lord  Chatham.  “  I 


POLITICAL  ORATORS — PITT. 


239 


have  sometimes,”  said  he,  “seen  eloquence  without  wisdom, 
and  often  wisdom  without  eloquence;  but  in  him  I  have 
seen  them  united  in  the  highest  possible  degree." 

As  the  veteran  gladiator  was  borne  away  from  the 
arena,  two  youthful  athletes  appeared  upon  it, —  Charles 
James  Fox  and  William  Pitt.  If  the  elder  Pitt  was  an 
orator  by  nature,  the  younger  Pitt  was  no  less  truly  an 
orator  by  art.  Not  that  he  lacked  genius,  for  he  was  a 
marvel  of  precocity;  but  from  his  earliest  youth  he  was 
unwearied  in  the  pains  he  took  to  qualify  himself  for 
debate.  Even  in  childhood  he  seemed  to  have  an  instinc¬ 
tive  perception  of  the  bent  of  his  talents.  When  only 
seven  years  of  age,  he  told  his  tutor  how  glad  he  was  at 
not  being  the  eldest  son,  for  “  he  wanted  to  speak  in  the 
House  of  Commons  like  papa.”  A  year  later  Lady  Hol¬ 
land,  who  saw  him  at  Lady  Hester  Pitt’s,  wrote  to  her 
husband:  “He  is  really  the  cleverest  child  I  ever  saw, 
and  brought  up  so  strictly  and  so  proper,  that, — mark  my 
words, —  that  little  boy  will  prove  a  thorn  in  Charles’s* 
side  as  long  as  he  lives.”  But  great  as  were  his  natural 
gifts,  he  did  not  rely  upon  them,  but  strove  in  every  way 
to  perfect  himself  in  the  accomplishments  necessary  to  the 
orator.  Not  only  did  the  gouty  Earl,  his  father,  watch 
his  early  education  with  jealous  care,  but  he  had  himself 
so  earnestly  seconded  his  father’s  efforts  that,  in  spite  of 
his  bodily  weakness,  when  he  went  to  Cambridge  in  1773, 
a  boy  of  fourteen,  he  was  already,  in  parts  and  learning, 
a  grown  man.  From  the  earliest  childhood  his  powers 
of  speech  had  been  trained  in  every  possible  way, —  by 
reciting  daily  choice  passages  from  the  best  English  au- 


*  Charles  James  Fox. 


240 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


thors,  by  rendering  aloud  pages  of  some  Greek  or  Roman 
orator  into  choice  and  nervous  English,  by  studying  with 
minute  attention  the  works  of  Bolingbroke  and  Barrow, 
of  Polybius  and  Thucydides,  and  by  dwelling  for  hours 
together  on  some  striking  passage  in  the  masterpieces  of 
ancient  oratory.  The  debate  in  Pandemonium,  says  Ma¬ 
caulay,  was  one  of  his  favorite  passages,  and  his  early 
friends  used  to  talk  together,  long  after  his  death,  of  the 
just  emphasis  and  melodious  cadence  with  which  they  had 
heard  him  recite  the  incomparable  speech  of  Belial. 

Even  after  he  had  taken  his  Master’s  degree  at  the 
University,  at  the  age  of  seventeen,  he  still  kept  his 
terms,  and  read  with  his  tutor  for  four  more  years.  By 
the  end  of  this  time  he  had  gone  through  almost  every 
known  Greek  and  Latin  author,  had  made  some  progress 
in  the  study  of  natural  philosophy  and  civil  law,  and  in 
mathematics  had  gained  a  proficiency  which  qualified  him 
to  stand  for  wrangler’s  honors.  Though  not  fond  of  com¬ 
position  in  the  dead  languages,  he  read  classic  authors 
with  intense  delight, —  catching  instinctively  the  meaning 
of  the  hardest  passages,  dwelling  especially  on  the  niceties 
of  language  and  the  differences  of  style,  and.  discriminating 
the  essential  from  the  non-essential  in  such  studies  with 
almost  intuitive  quickness  and  tact.  So  complete  was 
his  mastery  of  the  Greek  that  his  tutor  declared  his  firm 
belief  that  no  one  ever  read  it,  even  after  devoting  a  whole 
life  to  its  study,  with  greater  facility  than  did  Pitt  at 
twenty-one.  Lord  Grenville  afterward  pronounced  him 
the  best  Greek  scholar  he  ever  conversed  with;  and  Lord 
Wellesley  said  that  “  with  astonishing  facility  he  applied 
the  whole  spirit  of  ancient  learning  to  his  use.”  It  was, 
however,  to  the  orators  of  antiquity  that  he  turned  with 


POLITICAL  ORATORS — PITT. 


241 


the  most  instinctive  fondness;  loving,  especially,  to  com¬ 
pare  the  opposite  speeches  on  the  same  subject  supplied 
by  Thucydides,  Livy,  and  Sallust.  Besides  these  studies, 
he  familiarized  himself  with  Shakspeare  and  Milton,  Hume 
and  Robertson,  and  thoroughly  analyzed  and  mastered  the 
great  Essay  of  Locke.  Not  only  his  favorite  studies,  but 
other  circumstances,  indicated  the  bias  of  the  future  orator. 
The  barber  who  attended  him,  on  approaching  the  oak  door 
of  his  room,  overheard  him  declaiming  to  himself  within. 
Before  other  boys  left  school,  he  was  holding  mock  debates 
at  the  “  Crown  and  Anchor,"  in  London,  and  astonishing 
men  who  lived  to  see  his  great  parliamentary  triumphs, 
and  who  declared  that  even  these  did  not  surpass  the  elforts 
of  the  amateur.  Long  before  he  scandalized  the  dons  of 
Cambridge  by  presuming  to  set  up  for  an  M.  P.  at  the 
University,  the  young  athlete  was  to  be  seen  in  the  gallery 
of  the  House  of  Commons,  exercising  his  memory,  and 
training  himself  for  his  future  struggles  by  hearing  and 
answering  in  his  own  mind  the  great  geniuses  of  debate. 

No  wonder  that  when  he  sprang  into  the  arena,  the 
cry  arose  that  a  giant  had  taken  the  field.  He  passed 
into  the  front  rank  of  debaters  at  the  first  bound.  It 
was  in  support  of  Burke’s  motion  for  Economical  Reform 
that  he  made  his  maiden  effort;  and  though  called  upon 
suddenly  to  answer  an  adverse  speaker,  he  arose  and  made, 
on  the  spur  of  the  moment,  a  reply  that  took  the  whole 
House  by  surprise.  A  hundred  eyes  strove  to  trace  in 
the  features  and  manner  of  the  young  orator  the  old 
familiar  lineaments  of  the  sire  who  slept  in  Westminster. 
A  hundred  memories  recalled  the  trumpet  tones  which 
had  so  often  roused  the  chivalry  of  England  to  action. 

“  It  is  not  a  chip  of  the  old  block,”  said  Burke,  “  it  is  the 

11 


242 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


old  block  itself.”  Rarely,  however,  has  a  son  so  gifted 
been  so  unlike  his  father.  While  the  elder  Pitt  was  fiery 
and  impetuous,  hasty  in  his  resolves,  and  moved  by  the 
suggestions  of  a  vivid  imagination,  the  younger  was  cold, 
formal,  and  statuesque,  deficient  in  imagination,  always 
logical  and  argumentative,  and,  if  occasionally  roused,  so 
wary  and  circumspect,  that  Mr.  Fox  declared  that  “  in  a 
twenty  years’  contest  he  had  never  once  caught  him  trip¬ 
ping,”  and  Mr.  Windham  declared  that  he  could  at  any 
moment  speak  a  king’s  speech  off-hand.  The  one  was 
rapid,  electric,  vehement;  the  other  chaste,  classic,  persua¬ 
sive.  The  one  awed  into  acquiescence;  the  other  argued 
into  conviction.  Instead  of  the  bold,  brief,  and  pointed 
manner  of  expressing  daring  truths,  sometimes  by  meta¬ 
phor  and  sometimes  by  antithesis,  which  characterized  his  _ 
father’s  burning  appeals,  the  younger  Pitt  spoke  what 
has  been  happily  termed  “  a  state-paper  style.”  His  sen¬ 
tences,  which  fell  from  him  as  easily  as  if  he  had  been 
talking,  were  stately,  flowing,  and  harmonious, —  kept  up 
throughout  to  the  same  level, —  and  set  off  by  a  fine  voice 
and  a  dignified  bearing;  but,  though  the  language  was 
sonorous,  pure,  and  clear,  it  lacked  fire;  his  intonation 
was  monotonous,  and  his  gestures  passionless;  and  the 
dullest  reader  of  his  speeches  cannot  but  see  that  in  the 
energy  and  picturesqueness  of  his  brightest  flashes  Lord 
Chatham  was  as  superior  to  William  Pitt  as  William  Pitt 
was  superior  to  Chatham  in  logic  and  the  knowledge  of 
politics  and  finance. 

It  has  been  justly  said  that  it  is  only  on  rare  occa¬ 
sions  that  the  true  orator  of  the  House  of  Commons  has 
to  nerve  himself  for  the  heights  of  his  art;  his  reputa¬ 
tion  is  more  habitually  fixed  according  to  the  strength 


POLITICAL  ORATORS — PITT. 


243 


and  facility  with  which  he  moves  upon  level  ground.  It 
was  here  that  Pitt  excelled  all  his  rivals.  “  In  the  formal 
introduction  of  a  question,  in  the  perspicuity  of  expla¬ 
nation  in  detail,  in  short  and  apt  rejoinder  in  business¬ 
like  debate,  no  man  was  so  delightful  to  listen  to;  the 
decorum  of  his  bearing,  the  fluency  of  his  diction,  the 
exquisite  lucidity  of  his  utterance,  must  have  been  a  re¬ 
lief  to  Fox’s  preliminary  stutter,  shrill  key-note,  lifted 
fist,  and  redundant  action, —  to  Burke’s  Irish  brogue  and 
episodical  discursions.”  Of  sarcasm  he  was  a  consummate 
master;  probably  no  speaker  ever  wielded  that  weapon 
with  more  dexterity  and  force.  The  chief  secret,  however, 
of  his  weight  and  influence  in  the  House  was  his  uniform 
earnestness, —  the  feeling  of  all  who  listened  to  him  that 
he  always  spoke  from  conviction,  never  from  love  of  dis¬ 
play  or  for  mere  “  effect.”  Unlike  one  of  his  successors 
at  the  present  day,  “the  exquisite  Hebrew  juggler,”  who 
never  seems  more  than  a  clever  and  gentlemanly  actor, 
even  when  most  animated,  and  who  apparently  could 
transfer  “  the  cold  glitter  of  his  rhetoric,”  with  little  diffi¬ 
culty,  to  the  advocacy  of  the  cause  he  is  attacking,  Pitt’s 
sincerity  was  never  for  a  moment  doubted.  “  He  spoke,” 
says  Lord  North,  “like  a  born  minister”;  and  if  he  failed 
in  wit,  playfulness,  and  the  ornaments  and  graces  of  style, 
it  was  from  prudence,  not  from  penury,  because  he  thought 
that  “the  spangles  would  little  accord  with  the  purple 
hem  of  his  toga.”  As  one  who  heard  him  declares: 

“  The  distinguishing  excellence  of  his  speaking  corresponded 
to  the  distinguishing  excellence  of  his  whole  mental  sys-  * 
tern;  every  part  of  his  speaking,  in  sentiment,  in  language, 
and  in  delivery,  evidently  bore,  in  our  judgment,  the 
stamp  of  his  character, —  all  communicated  to  us  a  definite 


244 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


yet  vivid  appearance  of  the  qualities  of  strenuousness 
without  effort,  unlabored  intrepidity,  and  serene  great¬ 
ness.”* 

If  the  exhibition  of  deep  feeling  is  the  test  of  sincerity, 
and  the  appearance  of  sincerity  the  test  of  a  great  orator, 
one  of  the  greatest  orators  that  ever  lived  was  Charles 
James  Fox.  The  hurried  sentence,  the  involuntary  excla¬ 
mation,  the  vehement  gesture,  the  sudden  start,  the  agita¬ 
tion, —  every  peculiarity  of  his  manner, —  indicated  an 
eloquence  that  came  from  the  very  depths  of  the  soul. 
Loose  in  his  arrangement, —  neither  polished  nor  exact  in 
his  style, —  often  hesitating  and  stammering  at  the  start, 
he  exercised  a  prodigious  influence  on  his  hearers,  be¬ 
cause,  as  Sir  James  Mackintosh  says,  “he  forgot  himself 
and  everything  around  him.”  He  was  but  little  more 
than  a  boy  in  years,  when,  in  flagrant  violation  of  the 
rules,  he  entered  the  House  of  Commons,  and  found  him¬ 
self  at  the  age  of  nineteen  one  of  the  legislators  of  the 
British  Empire.  Educated  at  Eton  and  Oxford,  he  had 
shown  a  taste  for  mathematics,  and  especially  for  the 
classics,  which  he  read  with  critical  accuracy,  and  had  also 
acquired  a  rare  mastery  of  the  French  language.  While 
at  these  seats  of  learning,  he  is  said  to  have  astonished 
his  masters  as  much  by  the  levity  of  his  conduct  as  by 
the  quickness  and  brilliancy  of  his  talents,  while  he  al¬ 
ready  exerted  over  his  school-fellows  the  fascination  which 
he  exerted  in  after  years  over  his  fellow  men.  Devoting 
himself  with  equal  earnestness  to  pleasure  and  to  study, 
he  wasted  the  night  in  dissipation,  and  then  applied  him¬ 
self  fiercely  to  his  books,  spending  upon  them  not  less 

*  *  Quarterly  Review,  August  1810. 


POLITICAL  ORATORS — FOX. 


245 


than  nine  or  ten  hours  a  day.  The  fruits  of  this  appli¬ 
cation  were  seen  in  the  passionate  love  which  he  manifested 
all  his  life  for  the  great  authors  of  antiquity,  whose  society 
he  sought  in  the  intervals  of  the  fiercest  political  conflicts, 
and  whose  inspiration,  no  doubt,  often  directed  the  thun¬ 
ders  of  eloquence  with  which  he  shook  the  House  of 
Commons. 

Unfortunately  he  had  early  acquired  a  passion  for  gam¬ 
ing,  which  became  at  last  so  intense,  that,  being  asked  what 
was  the  greatest  happiness  in  life,  he  replied,  “  To  play  and 
to  win”;  and  to  the  question  what  was  the  next  greatest, 
he  replied,  “  To  play,  and  to  lose.”  It  was  during  a  visit 
to  Spa,  when  he  was  hardly  fifteen  years  of  age,  that  he 
was  first  drawn  into  the  vortex  of  play,  and  it  is  said  that 
Lord  Holland,  his  father,  instead  of  checking,  encouraged 
this  fatal  passion  by  allowing  him  five  guineas  a  night  to 
waste  on  the  amusement.  On  leaving  Oxford,  he  made 
a  tour  on  the  Continent,  where  he  contracted  vast  debts  in 
every  capital,  his  liabilities  at  Naples  alone  amounting  to 
£16,000.  The  purchase  of  annuities  which  he  had  granted 
to  cover  his  losses  at  play,  cost  Lord  Holland,  it  is  said, 
more  that  £140,000.  When  Fox’s  prodigality  compelled 
his  father  to  summon  him  home,  “  his  chapeau  bras ,  red- 
heeled  shoes,  blue  hair-powder,”  and  fashionable  airs, 
showed,  we  are  told,  that  he  had  become  one  of  the  most 
egregious  coxcombs  in  Europe.  As  an  offset  to  this  dissi¬ 
pation,  he  had  acquired  a  keen  relish  for  Italian  literature, 
which  prompted  him  to  write  in  a  letter  to  a  friend:  “For 
God’s  sake,  learn  Italian  as  fast  as  you  can,  if  it  be  only 
to  read  Ariosto!  There  is  more  good  poetry  in  Italian 
than  in  all  other  languages  that  I  understand  put  to¬ 
gether.”  In  his  youth  Fox  was  also  passionately  fond  of 


246 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


private  theatricals,  where  he  distinguished  himself  both 
in  tragedy  and  high  comedy;  and  it  is  supposed  by  some 
writers  that  these  experiences  were  useful  to  him,  not  only 
in  helping  him  to  modulate  his  voice,  but  also  in  enabling 
him  early  in  life  to  conquer  the  terrible  impediment  to 
oratory  which  is  known  as  “  stage- fright.” 

Few  orators  who  have  attained  to  equal  eminence  have 
been  endowed  by  nature  with  so  few  of  the  physical  gifts 
of  the  great  orator.  It  is  true  that  he  had  in  the  highest 
degree  the  oratorical  temperament,  and,  as  Bulwer  has 
remarked,  in  the  union  of  natural  passion  with  scholastic 
reasoning  excelled  all  others  who  have  dignified  the  British 
senate.  “  His  feeling,”  said  Coleridge,  “  was  all  intellect, 
and  his  intellect  all  feeling.”  But  he  had  none  of  the 
beauty  of  person  which  enabled  Bolingbroke  to  please 
without  an  effort,  nor  did  his  speech  have  any  of  that 
melody  with  which  Chatham  charmed  an  assembly.  He 
spoke  always  as  if  he  was  in  a  passion;  his  gesticulation 
was  extravagant  and  graceless ;  his  whole  manner  ungainly ; 
his  voice  husky;  and  his  articulation,  in  spite  of  all  his 
efforts  to  improve  it,  so  indistinct  as  to  be  at  times  unin¬ 
telligible.  When  about  to  begin  a  speech,  he  advanced 
slowly,  with  a  heavy,  lumbering  air,  to  the  table,  and 
began  fumbling  awkwardly  with  his  fingers  in  a  way 
which, —  with  his  general  coarseness  of  appearance,  his 
careless,  half-buttoned  vest,  his  crumpled  linen,  his  almost 
slovenly  attire, —  provoked,  in  one  who  heard  him  for  the 
first  time,  a  feeling  of  disappointment.  But  this  very 
awkwardness  of  manner, —  his  entangled,  broken  sentences, 
the  choking  of  his  voice,  and  the  scream  with  which  he 
delivered  his  vehement  passages, —  only  deepened  the  in¬ 
terest  with  which  he  was  listened  to,  because  they  were 


POLITICAL  ORATORS — FOX. 


247 


regarded  as  proofs  of  bis  absolute  sincerity.  Moreover, 
these  defects  gave  to  the  merits  which  redeemed  them  the 
thrilling  suddenness  of  surprise,  and  so  he  was  “  patiently 
allowed  to  splutter  and  stammer  out  his  way  into  the  heart 
of  his  subject,  grappling,  as  it  were,  with  the  ideas  that 
embarrassed  his  choice  by  the  pressure  of  their  throng,  till, 
once  selected  and  marshalled  into  order,  they  emerged  from 
the  wildness  of  a  tumult  into  the  discipline  of  an  army.” 

As  he  gradually  warmed  with  his  theme,  his  declama¬ 
tion  flowed  from  him  in  a  torrent.  “  Every  sentence,” 
says  Grattan,  “  came  rolling  like  a  wave  of  the  Atlantic, 
three  thousand  miles  long.”  At  times  his  tongue  faltered, 
his  voice  grew  stifled,  and  his  face  was  bathed  in  tears. 
But  though  his  words  escaped  from  him,  rather  than  were 
spoken,  they  were  the  vehicle  of  close  and  often  of  subtle 
and  unanswerable  argument.  Argument,  which  was  his 
passion  in  public  and  in  private,  upon  the  greatest  and  the 
pettiest  themes,  was  his  strongest  point.  It  was  for  this 
reason,  perhaps,  and  because  of  his  fervid,  rapid,  copious 
manner,  that  Sir  James  Mackintosh  called  him  the  most 
^Demosthenic  orator  since  Demosthenes.  Unlike  the  great 
orator  of  Greece,  who  carefully  chose  and  collocated  his 
words,  and  never'  wasted  an  epithet,  he  was  careless  and 
slovenly  in  his  style;  he  abounded  in  repetitions,  too, 
while  the  Greek  “  never  came  back  upon  a  ground  which 
he  had  utterly  wasted  and  withered  up  by  the  tide  of 
fire  he  had  rolled  over  it.”  Beginning  his  career  with 
the  determination  to  excel  in  this  department  of  public 
speaking,  Fox  was  indefatigable  in  his  efforts  to  perfect 
himself,  till  he  rose  at  last,  as  Burke  said,  to  be  the  most 
brilliant  and  accomplished  debater  the  world  ever  saw. 
“  During  five  whole  sessions,”  he  used  to  say,  “  I  spoke 


248 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


every  night  but  one;  and  I  regret  that  I  did  not  speak 
on  that  night,  too.”  Like  every  other  great  orator,  he 
attained  his  skill,  in  part,  at  the  expense  of  those  who 
heard  him. 

His  power  as  an  orator  is  the  more  wonderful  when 
we  consider  his  habits  of  life.  He  rose  late,  and  before 
he  had  quitted  his  bedroom,  was  surrounded  by  a  circle 
of  witty  and  accomplished  disciples,  with  whom  he  dis¬ 
cussed  the  questions  of  the  hour.  Wrapped  in  a  “  foul 
linen  night-gown  11  that  only  partially  concealed  his  black 
and  “  bristly  person,”  his  hair  matted,  and  his  hands  un¬ 
washed,  he  marshalled  the  forces  of  the  opposition,  and 
devised  the  tactics  of  the  campaign.  The  day  he  spent  at 
the  Newmarket  races;  in  the  evening  he  assailed  the  min¬ 
ister;  the  night  was  consumed  at  Almack’s,  where  the 
youthful  aristocracy  of  England  scattered,  with  a  cast  of 
the  dice,  the  hoarded  savings  of  centuries.  Only  the  most 
vigorous  and  elastic  constitution  could  have  stood  such  an 
incessant  drain  of  its  energies;  yet  Fox,  who  was  ten  years 
older  than  Pitt,  outlived  him  nearly  eight  months.  When 
Fox  was  but  twenty- two  years  old,  Horace  Walpole,  who 
had  been  to  hear  him  in  the  House  of  Commons,  spoke 
of  him  as  “  the  meteor  of  those  days.”  “  Fox’s  abilities,” 
he  adds,  “  are  amazing  at  so  very  early  a  period,  espe¬ 
cially  under  the  circumstances  of  such  a  dissolute  life. 
He  was  just  arrived  from  Newmarket,  and  had  sat  up 
drinking  all  night,  and  had  not  been  in  bed.  How  such 
talents  make  one  laugh  at  Tully’s  rules  for  an  orator, 
and  his  indefatigable  application !  His  labored  orations 
are  puerile  in  comparison  to  this  boy’s  manly  reason.” 
Again,  at^a  later  day,  he  exclaims:  “  What  a  man  Fox  is! 
After  his  long  and  exhausting  speech  on  Hastings’s  trial, 


POLITICAL  ORATORS  —  FOX. 


249 


he  was  seen  handing  the  ladies  into  their  coaches  with  all 
the  gayety  and  prattle  of  an  idle  gallant.”  * 

Though  an  accomplished  scholar  and  well-grounded  in 
history,  Fox  had  little  philosophical  or  economical  knowl¬ 
edge.  Adam  Smith's  great  work  he  never  troubled  him¬ 
self  to  read,  and  Montesquieu's  “  Spirit  of  the  Laws  ”  he 
deemed  full  of  nonsense.  His  understanding  was  power¬ 
ful  and  sagacious  rather  than  acute  and  subtle,  better 
fitted  for  appreciating  the  actual  than  for  examining  the 
abstract  and  speculative.  One  of  his  most  valuable  gifts 
was  his  quick,  instinctive  perception  of  an  adversary’s 
weakness,  and  the  advantage  to  be  taken  of  it, —  an  ad¬ 
vantage  which,  according  to  a  modern  orator,  is,  in  the 
war  of  words,  what  the  coup  cl'oeil  of  a  practised  general 
is  in  the  field.  Hence  he  was  always  happiest  in  reply; 
and  if  interrupted  by  cries  of  “  order,”  pressed  home  his 
arguments  with  increasing  vehemence  till  the  redoubled 
blows  and  repeated  bursts  of  extemporaneous  declamation 
almost  overpowered  the  audience,  while  they  effectually 
checked  all  further  interruption.  It  has  been  justly  said 
that  in  his  climaxes  he  was  especially  happy;  argument 
was  piled  upon  argument  until  it  seemed  as  though  the 
whole  must  fall  by  its  own  weight.  But  there  was  no 
danger  of  that;  for  if  the  burden  was  a  gigantic  one, 
there  was  a  giant  to  bear  it.  In  nothing  is  his  prodig¬ 
ious  power  as  a  debater  more  strikingly  shown  than  in 
the  fact,  that,  after  having  stated  the  argument  of  his 
adversary  with  tenfold  more  force  than  his  adversary  him- 

*  Fox’s  delightful  social  qualities,  his  sunny  humor,  sweetness  of  temper, 
and  forgiving  disposition,  which  endeared  him  to  his  associates,  are  well  known. 
To  a  French  abb.f,  who  expressed  his  surprise  that  a  country  so  moral  as  Eng¬ 
land  could  submit  to  be  governed  by  a  man  so  wanting  in  private  character  as 
Fox,  Pitt  replied:  “ C'est  que  vous  n'avez  pas  ete  sous  la  baguette  du  magicien, — 
(It  is  because  you  have  not  been  under  the  wand  of  the  magician).” 


250 


ORATORY  ANT)  ORATORS. 


self  had  put  it,  so  that  his  friends  were  alarmed  lest 
he  should  fail  to  answer  it,  he  proceeded  to  rend  it  in 
pieces,  thus  making  the  contrast  between  it  and  its  de¬ 
struction  only  the  more  vivid.  Another  of  his  peculiari¬ 
ties  was  the  consummate  skill  with  which  he  turned  an 
attack  into  a  defense, —  often,  it  has  been  said,  turning 
the  very  wo-rds  of  his  adversaries,  like  captured  artillery, 
upon  themselves.  Hardly  less  surprising  was  his  wit, — 
the  wit  which  holds  up  to  ridicule  the  absurdities,  incon¬ 
sistences,  or  weak  points  of  an  opponent’s  argument, — 
which  he  had  in  a  rare  degree.  Both  Pitt  and  Canning 
pronounced  him  the  wittiest  speaker  of  his  times.  Fox 
had  not  the  teeming  knowledge,  the  broad-sweeping  views, 
the  marvellous  forecast,  the  prophetic  vision,  of  Burke; 
but  he  surpassed  him  as  an  orator,  because  he  had  more 
tact,  and  kept  to  the  topics  of  the  hour.  His  were  not 
the  grand  strategic  movements  of  which  few  have  the  pa¬ 
tience  to  await  the  issue.  They  were  close,  hand-to-hand 
fights  with  the  adversaries  in  his  front;  and  hence  the 
reason  why  his  speeches,  which  were  so  impressive  and 
even  irresistible  when  delivered,  are  comparatively  so  cold 
and  lifeless  now. 

An  English  writer  has  thus  vividly  contrasted  the 
styles  of  the  two  orators  we  have  last  described:  “Pitt’s 
style  was  stately,  sonorous,  full  to  abundance,  smooth,  and 
regular  in  its  flow;  Fox’s,  free  to  carelessness,  rapid,  rush¬ 
ing,  turbid,  broken,  but  overwhelming  in  its  swell.  Pitt 
never  sank  below  his  -ordinary  level,  never  paused  in  his 
declamation,  never  hesitated  for  a  word;  if  interrupted 
by  a  remark  or  incident,  he  disposed  of  it  parenthetically, 
and  held  on  the  even  and  lofty  tenor  of  his  way.  Fox 
was  desultory  and  ineffective  till  he  warmed;  he  did  best 


POLITICAL  ORATORS  —  CANNING. 


251 


when  lie  was  provoked  or  excited;  he  required  the  kind¬ 
ling  impulse,  the  explosive  spark;  or  he  might  be  com¬ 
pared  to  the  rock  in  Horeb  before  it  was  struck.  .  .  . 
Passionately  enamored  of  life, —  loving  pleasure  intensely, 
and  quitting  it  with  difficulty  and  regret, — wanting,  indeed, 
in  the  patient  courage,  foresight,  and  energy  of  the  dis¬ 
ciplined  intellect,  but  wielding  with  matchless  skill  a 
burning  eloquence,  searchingly  argumentative  even  when 
most  impetuous, —  to  us  he  recalls  the  simple  and  coura¬ 
geous  tribune  of  a  degraded  populace, —  the  old  orator, 
who  could  weep  for  very  shame  that  they  will  not  be 
stirred,  as  high  above  the  crowd  he  thunders  against  the 
insolent  dictator,  and  casts  down  his  fiery  words,  like  hail¬ 
stones,  upon  the  upturned  faces  of  the  people!  .  .  . 

“They  spent  their  lives  together,  and  in  death  they 
were  not  divided.  Pitt  died, —  of  old  age, —  at  forty-six; 
a  few  months  elapsed,  and  Fox  was  laid  by  his  side.  The 
noble  lament  in  Marmion  was  uttered  over  the  tomb 
where  rest  the  ashes  of  both  the  rivals: 

k  Now  is  the  stately  column  broke, 

The  beacon  light  is  quenched  in  smoke 
The  trumpet’s  silver  sound  is  still, 

The  warder  silent  on  the  hill ! 1  ” 


Among  the  eminent  British  orators  of  this  century, 
George  Canning  stands,  undoubtedly,  in  the  front  rank. 
Few  public  speakers  have  begun  their  careers  with  so 
many  of  the  outward  advantages  of  an  orator.  His  pres¬ 
ence,  in  spite  of  a  somewhat  slight  and  wiry  figure,  was 
remarkably  prepossessing.  He  had  a  highly  intellectual 
countenance,  and  his  features,  finely  cut  and  decisive, 
were  capable  of  a  subtle  play  and  variety  of  expression, 
which  were  admirably  adapted  to  the  changes  of  his  elo- 


252 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


quence.  “There  is  a  lighting  up  of  his  features  and  a 
comic  play  about  the  mouth,”  said  Wilberforce,  “when  the 
full  force  of  the  approaching  witticism  strikes  his  own 
mind,  which  prepares  you  for  the  burst  which  is  to  follow.” 
His  voice  was  not  loud,  but  flexible,  and  so  clear  and 
perfectly  modulated  that  it  was  heard  distinctly  in  every 
part  of  the  House.  Like  Fox,  Pulteney,  and  most  of  the 
other  great  parliamentary  orators,  he  did  not  leap  by  a 
few  bounds  to  the  front  rank,  but  mastered  the  art  of 
speaking  slowly  and  by  persevering  effort.  His  first 
speech,  made  in  1794  on  a  subsidy  to  the  King  of  Sar¬ 
dinia,  was  a  comparative  failure.  It  was  brilliant  but 
cold,  and  also  too  refined  in  argument,  and  too  method¬ 
ical  in  statement.  His  next  speech  was  better,  but  was 
disfigured  by  a  classical  pedantry  in  the  style,  which, 
with  other  defects,  led  him,  by  the  advice  of  Mr.  Pitt,  to 
keep  silent  for  three  years,  in  order  to  correct  his  faults 
and  allow  them  to  be  forgotten. 

Since  the  days  of  Chatham  a  great  change  had  taken 
place  in  the  style  of  speaking  in  the  House  of  Commons. 
Formerly  the  discussions  had  turned  largely  upon  personal¬ 
ities  and  abstract  sentiments,  and  were  compared  by  Burke 
to  the  loose  speeches  of  a  vestry  meeting  or  a  debating 
club.  In  the  time  of  Pitt  and  Fox  a  greater  knowledge 
of  the  minutiae  of  a  question  was  demanded,  and  a  still 
greater  in  the  time  of  Brougham  and  Canning.  By  dint 
of  continual  labor  and  unsparing  self-correction,  Canning 
gradually  reached  the  perfection  of  his  own  style,  the  dis¬ 
tinguishing  qualities  of  which  were  rapidity,  polish,  and 
ornament.  It  was  this  peculiar  polish,  accompanied  by  a 
studied,  though  apparently  natural  rapidity,  which,  accord¬ 
ing  to  a  good  judge,  becoming  more  and  more  perfect  as 


POLITICAL  ORATORS  —  CANNING. 


253 


it  became  apparently  more  natural,  subsequently  formed 
the  essential  excellence  of  his  speaking.  Quick,  easy, 
and  fluent,  .  .  .  now  brilliant  and  ornamental,  then  again 
light  and  playful,  or,  if  he  wished  it,  clear,  simple,  and 
incisive,  no  speaker  ever  combined  a  greater  variety  of 
qualities,  though  many  have  been  superior  in  each  of  the 
excellences  which  he  possessed.”  Rarely  passionate,  when 
he  did  manifest  deep  feeling,  the  effect  was  electrical.  The 
vehemence  was  the  more  striking  from  the  contrast  it  pre¬ 
sented  to  his  ordinarily  passionless  demeanor,  his  sarcastic 
temper,  and  his  habitual  reserve. 

Nevertheless,  it  must  be  admitted  that  he  was  weakest, 
on  the  whole,  in  his  declamatory  passages,  which  are  too 
often  wanting  in  that  robustness  and  power,  that  grandeur 
and  magnificence,  which  thrill  through  the  mind.  He  did 
not,  like  Fox,  dart  fire  into  his  audience,  or  sweep  them 
along  on  the  torrent  of  an  impetuous  and  resistless  elo¬ 
quence.  He  had  none  of  those  burning  lava-streams  with 
which  Brougham  scorches  and  destroys  whatever  crosses 
his  path.  His  discourse  flows  on  like  the  waters  of  some 
calm,  majestic  river  unruffled  by  the  wind;  we  hear  noth¬ 
ing  of  the  dash  of  the  torrent,  or  the  roar  of  the  cataract; 
there  are  few  of  the  startling  apostrophes  or  soul-stirring 
appeals  which  sometimes  bring  an  audience  to  their  feet  as 
one  man.  Having  no  very  deep  convictions,  none  of  the 
stuff  of  which  martyrs  and  bigots  are  made,  he  seldom 
forgets  himself  in  his  subject.  He  was  constitutionally 
too  fastidious,  he  had  too  great  a  horror  of  excess  in  every 
form,  to  indulge  often  in  fiery  declamation.  There  is  no 
doubt,  too,  that,  till  the  latter  part  of  his  life,  the  effect 
of  his  speeches  was  lessened  by  the  elaboration, —  the  ex¬ 
cessive  finish, —  which  they  betrayed.  His  severe  and 


254 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


dainty  taste,  the  extreme  care  with  which  he  lingered 
over  the  rhythmus  of  a  sentence,  or  even  the  choice  of  an 
epithet, —  sometimes  degenerated  into  prudery.  It  is  said 
that,  as  minister,  he  would  scan  a  royal  speech  till  the 
faintest  tinge  of  color  was  bleached  out  of  it.  If  at  the 
eleventh  hour  it  was  found  to  contain  a  slight  grammatical 
error,  he  would  not  present  it  to  the  House  until  the  error 
had  been  removed. 

Sir  James  Mackintosh  pronounces  him  “the  best  model, 
among  our  orators,  of  the  adorned  style”;  yet  it  is  evident 
that  he  sometimes  over-ornamented  his  speeches,  for  the 
same  critic  admits  that  Mr.  Canning’s  hearers  were  often 
so  dazzled  by  the  splendor  of  his  diction  that  they  did  not 
perceive  the  acuteness  of  his  reasoning.  They  were  too 
often  confused,  also,  by  the  cross-lights  which  his  wit,  of 
which  there  was  always  a  superabundance,  shot  over  the 
canvas.  As  he  advanced  in  years,  however,  his  taste 
became  more  and  more  severe,  till  even  the  most  micro¬ 
scopic  critic  of  his  speeches  found  few  specks  to  dim  their 
beauty.  When  he  had  time  to  prepare,  not  a  shot  miscar¬ 
ried,  not  an  argument  was  weakened  by  a  needless  phrase. 
The  arrow,  stripped  of  all  plumage  except  that  which  aided 
and  steadied  its  flight,  struck  within  a  hair’s  breadth  of  the 
archer’s  aim.  Whether  it  pierced  the  joints  of  his  oppo¬ 
nent’s  harness,  or  shivered  on  the  shield,  might  be,  some¬ 
times,  a  question;  but  that  it  often  wounded  deeply,  is 
proved  by  the  retaliation  it  provoked. 

What  can  be  more  happy  than  his  allusion  to  Napo¬ 
leon  after  the  battle  of  Leipsic  and  his  retreat  to  Paris, 
when  the  first  gleams  of  victory  shone  over  the  gloomy 
struggle  of  the  Allies  for  twenty  years? 


POLITICAL  ORATORS  —  CANNING. 


255 


“  How  was  their  prospect  changed !  In  those  countries  where,  at  most,  a 
short  struggle  had  been  terminated  by  a  result  disastrous  to  their  wishes,  if  not 
altogether  closing  in  despair,  they  had  now  to  contemplate  a  very  different  as¬ 
pect  of  affairs.  Germany  crouched  no  longer  trembling  at  the  feet  of  the  tyrant, 
but  maintained  a  balanced  contest.  The  mighty  deluge  by  which  the  Continent 
had  been  overwhelmed,  is  subsiding.  The  limits  of  the  nations  are  again  visible, 
and  the  spires  and  turrets  of  ancient  establishments  are  beginning  to  reappear 
above  the  subsiding  waves.” 

It  is  rarely  that  so  brilliant  a  speaker,  one  so  fond  of 
ornament,  has  such  a  fund  of  good  sense.  He  was  even 
familiar  with  the  intricacies  of  finance,  and  in  one  of 
his  speeches  (that  on  the  bullion  question)  “  played,”  says 
Horner,  “  with  its  most  knotty  subtleties.”  When  the 
British  government,  in  1811,  undertook  to  make  it  penal 
to  buy  gold  at  a  premium,  and  a  resolution  was  offered 
in  the  House  of  Commons  declaring  that  the  notes  of 
the  Bank  of  England  had  been,  and  then  were,  held  in 
public  estimation  “to  be  equivalent  to  the  legal  coin  of 
the  realm,  and  generally  accepted  as  such,”  Mr.  Canning 
exposed  the  absurdity  of  the  measure  in  the  following 
terms,  which  have  as  much  pertinency  to  certain  Ameri¬ 
can  financial  schemes,  as  if  uttered  with  direct  reference 
to  them: 

“  When  Galileo  first  promulgated  the  doctrine  that  the  earth  turned  round 
the  sun,  and  that  the  sun  remained  stationary  in  the  centre  of  the  universe,  the 
holy  fathers  of  the  Inquisition  took  alarm  at  so  daring  an  innovation,  and  forth¬ 
with  declared  the  first  of  these  propositions  to  be  false  and  heretical,  and  the 
other  to  be  erroneous  in  point  of  faith.  The  holy  office  pledged  itself  to  believe 
that  the  earth  was  stationary,  and  the  sun  movable.  But  this  pledge  had  little 
effect  in  changing  the  natural  course  of  things;  the  sun  and  the  earth  continued, 
in  spite  of  it,  to  preserve  their  accustomed  relations  to  each  other,  just  as  the 
coin  and  the  bank-note  will,  in  spite  of  the  right  honorable  gentleman’s  resolu¬ 
tion.” 

Another  rare  merit  which  Canning  finally  possessed 
was  that  of  seizing  and  giving  expression  to  the  general 
sense  of  the  assembly  he  addressed.  Often,  before  rising 
to  speak,  he  would  make  a  lounging  tour  of  the  House, 
listening  to  the  observations  which  the  previous  speeches 


256 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


had  excited,  so  that  at  last,  when  he  himself  spoke,  he 
seemed  to  many  of  his  hearers  to  be  merely  giving  a 
striking  and  impressive  utterance  to  their  own  thoughts. 

The  one  weapon  of  which  he  was  most  master  was  wit. 
“His  irony,”  it  is  said,  “was  swift  and  stealthy, —  it  stabbed 
like  a  stiletto.”  Unfortunately,  he  was  only  too  willing 
to  use  it,  and  as  to  this  was  added  a  somewhat  haughty 
manner,  and  an  apparent  indifference  to  the  feelings  of 
those  whom  he  ridiculed,  it  is  no  wonder  that  he  often 
exasperated  when  he  should  have  sought  only  to  convince. 
During  the  first  ten  years  of  his  parliamentary  career, 
he  never  made  a  speech  on  which  he  particularly  plumed 
himself,  without  likewise  making  an  enemy  for  life.  A 
comic  alliteration, —  a  ludicrous  combination  of  words, — 
occurring  to  him,  was  a  temptation  he  could  not  resist. 
The  alliterative  phrase,  “  revered  and  ruptured,”  applied 
to  an  unfortunate  person,  made  Canning  more  unpopular 
than  the  worst  acts  of  his  Administration.  His  sneering  de¬ 
scription,  in  1812,  of  the  American  navy  as  “  half-a-dozen 
fir  frigates,  with  bits  of  bunting  flying  at  their  heads,” 
exasperated  the  American  people  more  than  the  impress¬ 
ment  of  their  seamen.  As  Sir  Henry  Bulwer  says:  “He 
was  always  young.  The  head  of  the  sixth  form  at  Eton  — 
squibbing  ‘the  doctor,’  as  Mr.  Addington  was  called;  fight¬ 
ing  with  Lord  Castlereagh;  cutting  jokes  on  Lord  Nugent; 
flatly  contradicting  Lord  Brougham;  swaggering  over  the 
Holy  Alliance;  he  was  in  perpetual  personal  quarrels, — one 
of  the  reasons  which  created  for  him  so  much  personal 
interest  during  the  whole  of  his  parliamentary  career.” 

One  of  the  best  specimens  of  Mr.  Canning’s  wit  is  his 
celebrated  sketch  of  Lord  Nugent  who  went  out  to  join 
the  Spanish  patriots  when  their  cause  was  nearly  lost: 


POLITICAL  ORATORS  —  CANNING. 


257 


“It  was  about  the  middle  of  last  July  that  the  heavy  Falmouth  coach  was 
observed  traveling  to  its  destination  through  the  roads  of  Cornwall,  with  more 
than  its  wonted  gravity.  The  coach  contained  two  inside  passengers, —  the 
one  a  fair  lady  of  no  inconsiderable  dimensions,  the  other  a  gentleman  who 
was  conveying  the  succor  of  his  person  to  the  struggling  patriots  of  Spain.* 
I  am  further  informed,— »  and  this  interesting  fact,  sir,  can  also  be  authenti¬ 
cated, —  that  the  heavy  Falmouth  van,  (which  honorable  gentlemen,  doubtless, 
are  aware  is  constructed  for  the  conveyance  of  cumbrous  articles,)  was  laden, 
upon  the  same  memorable  occasion,  with  a  box  of  most  portentous  magni¬ 
tude.  Now,  sir,  whether  this  box,  like  the  flying  chest  of  the  conjurer,  pos¬ 
sessed  any  supernatural  properties  of  locomotion,  is  a  point  which  I  confess 
I  am  quite  unable  to  determine;  but  of  this  I  am  most  credibly  informed, — 
and  I  should  hesitate  long  before  I  stated  it  to  the  House,  if  the  statement 
did  not  rest  upon  the  most  unquestionable  authority,— that  this  extraordinary 
box  contained  a  full  uniform  of  a  Spanish  general  of  cavalry,  together  with 
a  helmet  of  the  most  curious  workmanship;  a  helmet,  allow  me  to  add, 
scarcely  inferior  in  size  to  the  celebrated  helmet  in  the  castle  of  Otranto. 
Though  the  idea  of  going  to  the  relief  of  a  fortress,  blockaded  by  sea  and 
besieged  by  land,  in  a  full  suit  of  light  horseman’s  equipments  was,  perhaps, 
not  strongly  consonant  to  modern  military  operations,  yet  when  the  gentle¬ 
man  and  his  box  made  their  appearance,  the  Cortes,  no  doubt,  were  over¬ 
whelmed  with  joy,  and  rubbed  their  hands  with  delight  at  the  approach  of 
the  long  promised  aid.  How  the  noble  Lord  was  received,  or  what  effects  he 
operated  on  the  councils  of  the  Cortes  by  his  arrival,  I  do  not  know.  Things 
were  at  that  juncture  moving  rapidly  to  their  final  issue;  and  how  far  the 
noble  lord  conduced  to  the  termination  by  throwing  his  weight  into  the  sink¬ 
ing  scale  of  the  Cortes,  is  too  nice  a  question  for  me  just  now  to  settle.” 

The  finest  passage,  perhaps,  in  all  Mr.  Canning’s  speeches 
is  his  beautiful  picture  of  the  ships  in  ordinary  at  Ply¬ 
mouth,  as  an  emblem  of  England  reposing  in  the  qui¬ 
etude  of  peace.  The  speech  in  which  it  occurs  was  deliv¬ 
ered  at  Plymouth  in  1823,  after  he  had  inspected  the 
docks: 

“  Our  present  repose  is  no  more  a  proof  of  our  inability  to  act  than  the 
state  of  inertness  and  inactivity  in  which  I  have  seen  those  mighty  masses 
that  float  in  the  waters  above  your  town  is  a  proof  that  they  are  devoid  of 
strength  or  incapable  of  being  fitted  for  action.  You  well  know,  gentlemen, 
how  soon  one  of  those  stupendous  masses  now  reposing  on  their  shadows  in 
perfect  stillness — how  soon,  upon  any  call  of  patriotism  or  of  necessity,  it 
would  assume  the  likeness  of  an  animated  thing,  instinct  with  life  and  mo¬ 
tion-how  soon  it  would  ruffle,  as  it  were,  its  swelling  plumage  —  how  quickly 
it  would  put  forth  all  its  beauty  and  its  bravery,  collect  its  scattered  elements 
of  strength,  and  awake  its  dormant  thunders.  Such  as  is  one  of  those  mag- 

*  Lord  Nugent  was  a  remarkably  large,  heavy  man,  -with  a  head  too  large 
in  proportion  to  his  body. 

11* 


258 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


nificent  machines  when  springing  from  inaction  into  a  display  of  its  strength, 
such  is  England  herself,  while,  apparently  passive  and  motionless,  she  silently 
causes  her  power  to  be  put  forth  on  an  adequate  occasion.  ’ 

It  is  said  that  when  Paganini  was  asked  who  was  the 
first  violinist  of  Europe,  he  replied:  “I  do  not  know; 
Labinsky  is  second.”  Lord  Brougham  is  said  to  have 
made  a  similar  evasive  reply  when  asked  whom  he  con¬ 
sidered  the  greatest  orator  in  England.  If  not  the  Cory¬ 
phaeus  among  the  great  orators  of  the  present  century, 
he  stands,  beyond  all  dispute,  in  the  very  front  rank. 
He  appears  early  to  have  adopted  Demosthenes  as  his 
model;  and  in  one  quality  he  resembles  the  Greek  orator 

whose  speech  he  has  translated,  and  some  of  whose  pas- 

0 

sages  he  has  imitated.  We  refer  to  his  energy,  the 
deworrjc;  of  the  Greeks.  Endowed  with  a  tough,  lignum- 
vitae  frame,  he  had  a  mental  organism  equally  robust; 

and  his  oratorical  style  is  the  natural  outcome  of  his 

* 

physical  and  mental  constitution.  It  is  not  the  exercitatio 
domestica  et  umbratilis ,  the  silvery  eloquence  which  is  nice 
and  dainty  in  its  choice  of  words,  and  which  appeals  to 
the  reason  rather  than  to  the  feelings,  but  that  impetuous 
oratory  which  rushes  medium  in  agmen ,  in  pulverem ,  in 
clamorem ,  in  castra ,  atque  in  aciem  forensem.  There  is 
in  it  a  freshness  and  energy,  a  rushing  force,  a  declama¬ 
tory  vehemence,  which  reminds  one  of  the  roar  of  the 
cataract  or  the  dash  of  the  torrent.  In  its  most  fiery 
passages,  it  comes  down  with  a  sustained  and  tremendous 
impetuosity,  like  a  bombardment  with  red-hot  shot  from 
a  whole  park  of  artillery.  His  speeches  have  been  called 
“  law  papers  on  fire.”  If  the  highest  strength  is  to  be 
found  in  repose,  it  does  not  belong  to  Brougham.  Every 
word,  look,  and  gesture  indicate  a  restless,  impatient  en- 


POLITIC  A  L  ORATORS  —  BROUGHAM. 


259 


ergy.  Martin  Luther  said  that  the  reason  why  his  com¬ 
position  was  so  boisterous  and  tempestuous,  was,  that 
he  was  “born  to  fight  with  devils  and  storms”;  and 
Brougham  might  have  made  a  similar  explanation.  Of 
ease  and  quiet  he  has  apparently  no  conception. 

Occasionally  his  vehemence  of  tone  amounts  almost 
to  a  scream.  One  seems  to  hear  rough  and  thick  hail 
falling  and  rattling  on  the  roof  as  he  listens  to  his  sen¬ 
tences, — 

“Tam  multa  in  tectis  crepitans  salit  horrida  grando”; 
and  the  effect  upon  the  nerves  is  far  from  pleasant.  There 
is  at  times  a  monotony  of  declamation  which  is  suggestive 
of  the  beating  of  a  gong,  or  an  oratorical  machine;  a 
fault  which  led  an  old  English  judge,  who  loved  dawdling, 
and  hated  the  “  discomposing  qualities  ”  of  Brougham’s 
oratory,  to  call  him  the  Harangue.  “  Well,  gentlemen, 
what  did  the  Harangue  say  next?  Why,  it  said  this  (mis¬ 
stating  it) ;  but  here,  gentlemen,  the  Harangue  was  wrong, 
and  not  intelligible.”  But  though  Brougham  has  plenty 
of  faults,  they  are  the  faults,  not  of  weakness,  but  of 
power.  He  runs  riot  in  the  exuberance  of  his  strength. 
His  sentences  are  interminable  in  their  length,  stuffed 
with  parentheses,  and  as  full  of  folds  as  a  sleeping  boa- 
constrictor.  He  is  fond  of  repetition  and  exaggeration, 
clothes  his  ideas  in  almost  endless  forms  of  words;  crowds 
qualifying  clauses,  explanatory  statements,  hints,  insinua¬ 
tions,  and  even  distinct  thoughts,  into  a  single  sentence; 
piles  Ossa  upon  Pelion;  accumulates  image  upon  image, 
metaphor  upon  metaphor,  argument  upon  argument,  till 
the  hearer,  perplexed  by  the  multiplicity  of  ideas,  almost 
loses  the  thread  of  the  reasoning,  and  is  lost  in  the  laby¬ 
rinth  of  his  periods.  Occasionally,  also,  he  is  too  theatrical 


260 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


for  good  taste,  as  when  at  the  close  of  his  great  speech  in 
the  House  of  Lords  on  Parliamentary  Reform,  sinking  on 
the  floor  beside  the  woolsack,  he  exclaimed:  “  By  all  you 
hold  most  dear, —  by  all  the  ties  that  bind  every  one  of  us 
to  our  common  order  and  our  common  country,  I  solemnly 
adjure  you, —  I  warn  you, —  I  implore  you, —  yea,  on  my 
bended  knees ,  I  supplicate  you, —  reject  not  this  bill.”  Pas¬ 
sages  like  these,  which  are  better  adapted  to  Southern  than 
to  Northern  latitudes,  are  apt  to  provoke  a  sarcasm  from 
the  cold-blooded  Briton  like  that  of  Sheridan  when  Burke 
threw  down  a  dagger  on  the  floor  of  the  House  of  Com- 
mons:  “The  gentleman  has  brought  us  the  knife,  but 
where  is  the  fork?” 

Again,  Brougham  has  too  great  a  love  for  big  “  diction* 
ary  words.”  He  seems  either  to  have  no  taste  for  simple, 
Saxon  English,  or  to  know  little  of  its  force.  His  style  is 
essentially  a  spoken  style, —  better  to  hear  than  to  read; 
and  all  who  have  heard  him  agree  that,  without  hearing 
him,  it  was  impossible  to  obtain  any  but  a  dim  concep¬ 
tion  of  his  power.  This  disadvantage  he  shares  with  some 
of  the  greatest  orators, —  notably  with  Demosthenes,  Chat¬ 
ham,  and  Fox.  In  spite  of  all  drawbacks,  however,  we  feel 
even  in  reading  his  printed  speeches,  that  their  effects  must 
have  been  prodigious,  especially  when  we  remember  his 
extraordinary  elocution,  and  that  his  object  wras  not  to 
please,  but  to  strike  hard,  to  carry  the  object  in  hand,  to 
hit  the  nail  on  the  head.  It  is  in  personal  encounters, 
in  close,  hand-to-hand  fights  with  a  foe,  that  his  power 
is  most  signally  displayed.  “  For  fierce,  Vengeful,  and  ir¬ 
resistible  assault,”  says  John  Foster,  “  Brougham  stands 
the  foremost  man  in  all  this  world.”  When  thus  en* 
gaged,  his  dialectical  skill,  his  quickness  and  keenness  in 


POLITICAL  ORATORS  —  BROUGHAM. 


261 


exposing  a  fallacy  or  crushing  a  weak  pretense,  his  gall¬ 
ing  irony,  his  flaying  sarcasm,  his  encyclopaedic  knowledge, 
his  rushing  resistless  declamation,  his  defiant  courage,  and 
his  ability  to  wrest  a  weapon  from  the  hands  of  an  ad¬ 
versary  and  turn  its  edge  upon  himself, —  appear  to  ter¬ 
rible  advantage.  Canning  was  the  only  member  of  the 
House  who  could  match  him  on  such  an  occasion,  and 
some  of  the  encounters  which  took  place  between  these 
intellectual  gladiators, —  the  Coeur  de  Lion  and  the  Sala- 
din  of  the  Senate,  the  one  armed  with  a  battle-axe,  the 
other  with  the  scimitar, —  the  one  athletic  and  powerful, 
the  other  nimble,  adroit,  and  a  consummate  master  of  fence, 
—  were  among  the  most  exciting  exhibitions  of  this  kind 
ever  witnessed  in  the  British  Parliament. 

In  speaking  of  Brougham’s  attack,  Professor  Goodrich 
remarks  that  “  it  is  usually  carried  on  under  the  forms  of 
logic.  For  the  materials  of  his  argument,  he  sometimes 
goes  off  to  topics  the  most  remote  and  apparently  alien 
from  his  subject;  but  he  never  fails  to  come  down  upon 
it  at  last  with  overwhelming  force."  He  is  a  great  mas- 
ter  of  irony  and  sarcasm.  Though  he  has  an  abundance 
of  wit,  it  never,  like  Canning’s,  takes  the  form  of  polished 
and  sparkling  pleasantry,  but  is  steeped  in  scorn  and  con¬ 
tempt.  Perhaps  no  orator  ever  lived  whose  invective 
was  more  terrible.  The  effects  he  produced  were  materi¬ 
ally  increased  by  his  looks  and  gestures,  which  were  as 
unique  and  remarkable  as  his  sentiments.  As  he  ad¬ 
vanced  in  years,  his  face  became  like  granite,  deep  in  its 
lines,  strong  in  its  individuality,  almost  fierce  in  its  power. 
The  iron  massiveness  of  his  forehead,  the  long  twitching 
nose,  half-turned  up  and  half  square  at  its  lower  end, 
the  high  cheek  bones,  the  large,  restless  mouth,  full  of 


262 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


character,  the  eye,  quick  and  watchful  as  a  hawk’s,  the 
saturnine  swarthiness  of  his  complexion, —  arrested  the 
attention  of  every  observer.  The  impression  made  by  his 
oratory  was  the  more  remarkable,  as  he  labored  under 
the  disadvantage  of  an  unmusical  voice.  In  its  highest 
tones  it  was  often  harsh  and  hoarse,  sounding,  it  is  said, 
like  the  scream  of  the  northern  eagle  swooping  down 
upon  its  prey;  but  this  was  compensated  in  some  degree 
by  his  skill  in  its  management,  modulating  it,  as  he  did, 
with  admirable  skill. 

A  good  specimen  of  Lord  Brougham’s  manner  is  the 
close  of  his  speech  on  Law  Reform,  in  1828: 

“You  saw  the  greatest  warrior  of  the  age,— conqueror  of  Italy  —  humbler 
of  Germany, —  terror  of  the  North, —  saw  him  account  all  his  matchless  victo¬ 
ries  poor  compared  with  the  triumph  you  are  now  in  a  condition  to  win,— saw 
him  contemn  the  fickleness  of  fortune,  while  in  despite  of  her  he  could  pro¬ 
nounce  his  memorable  boast :  1 1  shall  go  down  to  posterity  with  the  Code  in 
my  hand!’  You  have  vanquished  him  in  the  field;  strive  now  to  rival  him  in 
the  sacred  arts  of  peace !  Outstrip  him  as  lawgiver  whom  in  arms  you  over¬ 
came  !  The  lustre  of  the  Regency  will  be  eclipsed  by  the  more  solid  and  en¬ 
during  splendor  of  the  Reign.  It  was  the  boast  of  Augustus,—  it  formed  part 
of  the  glare  in  which  the  perfidies  of  his  earlier  years  were  lost, —  that  he 
found  Rome  of  brick  and  left  it  of  marble.  But  how  much  nobler  will  be 
the  Sovereign’s  boast,  when  he  shall  have  it  to  say,  that  he  found  law  dear 
and  left  it  cheap;  found  it  a  sealed  book,  left  it  a  living  letter;  found  it  the 
patrimony  of  the  rich,  left  it  the  inheritance  of  the  poor;  found  it  the  two- 
edged  sword  of  craft  and  oppression,  left  it  the  staff  of  honesty  and  the  shield 
of  innocence !  ” 

One  of  the  chief  merits  of  Brougham’s  oratory  is  its 
felicity  in  description.  Having  little  imagination, —  at 
least,  in  proportion  to  his  other  faculties, —  he  has  no 
poetic  passages,  no  meteoric  images  flashing  across  his 
page;  his  light  is  emphatically  a  “dry  light”;  but,  so 
far  as  it  goes,  it  is,  as  some  one  has  said,  like  an  Italian 
sky,  in  which  towers,  trees,  temples,  mountains,  and  stars, 
are  defined  to  an  almost  unearthly  sharpness.  A  striking 
example  of  his  pictorial  power  is  the  passage  in  his  speech 


POLITICAL  ORATORS  —  BROUGHAM. 


263 


on  the  Slave  Trade,  in  1838,  when  he  described  the  horrors 
of  the  Middle  Passage,  and  spoke  of  “  the  shark  that  fol¬ 
lows  in  the  wake  of  the  slave-ship,1'  declaring  that  “  her 
course  is  literally  to  be  tracked  through  the  ocean  by  the 
blood  of  the  murdered,  with  which  her  enormous  crime 
stains  its  waters.1'  Hardly  less  noteworthy  is  the  invective 
against  the  policy  of  Mr.  Pitt,  in  a  speech  in  1812,  at  the 
Liverpool  election: 

“  Gentlemen,  I  stand  up  in  this  contest  against  the  friends  and  followers  of 
Mr.  Pitt,  or,  as  they  partially  designate  him,  ‘the  immortal  statesman,1  now  no 
more.  Immortal  in  the  miseries  of  his  devoted  country!  Immortal  in  the 
wounds  of  her  bleeding  liberties !  Immortal  in  the  cruel  wars  which  sprang 
from  his  cold,  calculating  ambition !  Immortal  in  the  intolerable  taxes,  the 
countless  loads  of  debt  which  these  wars  have  flung  upon  us,—  which  the 
youngest  man  among  us  will  not  live  to  see  the  end  of !  Immortal  in  the  tri¬ 
umphs  of  our  enemies,  and  the  ruin  of  our  allies, —  the  costly  purchase  of  so 
much  blood  and  treasure !  Immortal  in  the  afflictions  of  England,  and  the 
humiliations  of  her  friends,  through  the  whole  results  of  his  twenty  years’ 
reign,  from  the  first  rays  of  favor  with  which  a  delighted  court  gilded  his  early 
apostasy,  to  the  deadly  glare  which  is  at  this  instant  cast  upon  his  name  by  the 
burning  metropolis  of  our  last  ally  !*  But  may  no  such  immortality  ever  fall  to 
my  lot, —  let  me  rather  live  innocent  and  inglorious:  and  when  at  last  I  cease  to 
serve  you,  and  to  feel  for  your  wrongs,  may  I  have  a  humble  monument  in  some 
nameless  stone,  to  tell  that  beneath  it  there  rests  from  his  labors  in  your  service 
‘  an  enemy  of  the  immortal  statesman,— a  friend  of  peace  and  of  the  people.''  ” 

It  is  easy  to  imagine  the  electrical  effect  of  such  declama¬ 
tion  as  the  following,  which  breathes  defiance  in  every 
word.  It  is  from  his  speech  in  the  House  of  Lords  in 

1838,  on  the  emancipation  of  Negro  apprentices: 

* 

“  I  have  read  with  astonishment,  and  I  repel  with  scorn,  the  insinuation  that 
T  had  acted  the  part  of  an  advocate,  and  that  some  of  my  statements  were  col¬ 
ored  to  serve  a  cause.  How  dares  any  man  so  to  accuse  me?  How  dares  any 
one,  skulking  under  a  fictitious  name,  to  launch  his  slanderous  imputations  from 
his  covert?  I  come  forward  in  my  own  person.  I  make  the  charge  in  the  face 
of  day.  I  drag  the  criminal  to  trial.  I  openly  call  down  justice  on  his  head.  I 
defy  his  attacks.  I  defy  his  defenders.  I  challenge  investigation.  How  dares 
any  concealed  adversary  to  charge  me  as  an  advocate  speaking  from  a  brief,  and 
misrepresenting  the  facts  to  serve  a  purpose?  But  the  absurdity  of  this  charge 
even  outstrips  its  malice.” 

*  The  news  of  the  burning  of  Moscow  had  reached  Liverpool  that  very  day 


264 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


The  following  passage  from  the  peroration  of  a  speech 
in  the  House  of  Commons,  in  1830,  on  Negro  Slavery, 
will  recall  to  the  reader  the  memorable  burst  of  eloquence 
bv  Curran  on  a  similar  theme: 

“  Tell  me  not  of  rights,—  talk  not  of  the  property  of  the  planter  in  his  slaves. 
I  deny  the  right  —  I  acknowledge  not  the  property.  The  principles,  the  feelings 
of  our  common  nature,  rise  in  rebellion  against  it.  Be  the  appeal  made  to  the 
understanding  or  to  the  heart,  the  sentence  is  the  same  that  rejects  it.  In  vain 
you  tell  me  of  laws  that  sanction  such  a  claim !  There  is  a  law  above  all  the 
enactments  of  human  codes, —  the  same  throughout  the  world,  the  same  in  all 
times, —  such  as  it  was  before  the  daring  genius  of  Columbus  pierced  the  night 
of  ages,  and  opened  to  one  world  the  sources  of  power,  wealth,  and  knowledge ; 
to  another  all  unutterable  woes;  such  it  is  at  this  day.  It  is  the  law  written  in 
the  heart  of  man  by  the  finger  of  his  Maker;  and  by  that  law,  unchangeable  and 
eternal,  while  men  despise  fraud,  and  loathe  rapine,  and  abhor  blood,  they  will 
reject  the  wild  and  guilty  phantasy  that  man  can  hold  property  in  man  !  In  vain 
you  appeal  to  treaties,  to  covenants  between  nations;  the  covenants  of  the 
Almighty,  whether  of  the  old  covenant  or  the.  new,  denounce  such  unholy  pre¬ 
tensions  ” 

That  there  is  a  dash  of  charlatanry  in  many  of  Broug¬ 
ham's  displays,  is  doubtless  true,  as  it  is  true  of  all  such 
monsters  of  power;  but  as  an  advocate,  he  has,  in  his 
peculiar  line,  very  few  superiors.  For  a  time  it  was  a 
fashion  with  men  who  could  not  conceive  of  the  possibility 
of  excellence  in  more  than  one  department  of  knowledge, 
to  sneer  at  him  as  “no  lawyer1';  but  the  fact  that,  in  spite 
of  his  swift  dispatch  of  business,  hardly  one  of  his  chan¬ 
cery  decisions  was  reversed  on  appeal  to  the  House  of 
Lords,  shows  that  his  place  in  the  most  jealous  and  ex¬ 
acting  of  professions  was  fairly  won.  Less  versed  than 
many  of  his  rivals  in  the  technicalities  of  his  craft,  yet 
in  quick,  keen  insight  into  the  bearings  of  a  cause,  in  in¬ 
domitable  pluck  in  the  most  adverse  circumstances,  in 
promptness  in  meeting  a  sudden  emergency,  in  the  skil¬ 
ful  worming  out  of  latent  facts,  in  impromptu  adroitness 
in  veiling  defective  evidence  with  rhetorical  drapery,  in 

sarcastic  ironv  and  “damnable  iteration'1  of  invective 
« / 


POLITICAL  ORATORS  —  BROUGHAM. 


265 


when  required  against  a  witness  or  a  prosecutor,  he  was 
unsurpassed.  His  speech  in  defense  of  Queen  Caroline, 
in  the  House  of  Lords,  is  admitted,  with  all  its  faults,  to 
have  been  a  masterpiece  of  dialectical  and  rhetorical  skill. 
The  rank  and  sex  of  his  client,  the  malignant  and  brutal 
tyranny  of  her  husband,  George  IV,  the  intense  interest 
felt  bv  the  nation  in  the  result,  the  exalted  character  of 
the  tribunal,  the  great  array  of  hostile  talent,  learning  and 
eloquence, —  all  conspired,  on  this  occasion,  to  call  forth 
all  the  advocate’s  powers.  We  can  give  no  analysis  or 
extracts  from  this  great  speech,  the  most  striking  pas¬ 
sages  of  which  are  familiar  to  all  students  of  modern 
forensic  eloquence.  The  power  with  which  the  evidence 
for  the  bill  was  shattered;  the  skill  with  which  the  testi¬ 
mony  of  Majocchi,  the  non  mi  ricordo  Majocchi, —  of  De- 
mont,  “  the  Machiavel  of  waiting-maids,”  and  of  Cucchi, 
with  “  that  unmatched  physiognomy,  those  gloating  eyes, 
that  sniffing  nose,  that  lecherous  mouth,” —  was  probed, 
dissected,  and  destroyed;  the  defiant  courage  with  which  he 
pronounced  the  King  “  the  ringleader  of  the  band  of  per¬ 
jured  witnesses,” — have  never  been  surpassed,  if  matched, 
in  modern  forensic  oratory.  Hardly  inferior,  perhaps  fully 
equal,  to  the  last-mentioned  oratorical  effort,  was  that 
made  by  Brougham  in  defense  of  Ambrose  Williams.  When 
Queen  Caroline  died  in  August,  1821,  the  bells  in  nearly 
all  the  churches  of  England  were  tolled  in  respect  to  her 
memory,  those  of  Durham  only  remaining  silent.  Upon 
this  silence,  Mr.  Williams,  the  editor  of  a  newspaper  at 
Durham,  commented  with  some  severity,  and  was  there¬ 
upon  indicted  for  a  libel  against  “  the  clergy  residing  in 
and  near  the  city  of  Durham.”  The  pith  of  the  libel 

was  contained  in  the  following  passages: 

12 


266 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


“In  this  Episcopal  city,  containing  six  churches  independently  of  the 
cathedral,  not  a  single  bell  announced  the  departure  of  the  magnanimous 
spirit  of  the  most  injured  of  Queens,  the  most  persecuted  of  women.  Thus 
the  brutal  enmity  of  those  who  embittered  her  mortal  existence  pursues  her 
in  her  shroud.  .  .  .  We  know  not  whether  any  actual  orders  were  issued  to 
prevent  this  customary  sign  of  mourning;  but  the  omission  plainly  indicates 
the  kind  of  spirit  which  predominates  among  our  clergy.  Yet  these  men  pro¬ 
fess  to  be  followers  of  Jesus  Christ,  to  walk  in  his  footsteps,  to  teach  his  pre¬ 
cepts,  to  inculcate  his  spirit,  to  promote  harmony,  charity,  and  Christian  love ! 
Out  upon  such  hypocrisy  1 11 

The  prosecution  was  conducted  *by  Mr.  Scarlett,  who, 
in  his  opening  speech  contended  that  the  silence  of  the 
bells  might  have  been  intended  as  a  mark  of  respect, — 
that  the  clergy  were  not  so  loud  in  their  grief  as  others, 
because,  perhaps,  they  were  more  sincere,  and  sympathized 
too  deeply  with  the  Queen's  fate  to  give  an  open  expres¬ 
sion  to  their  sorrow.  Brougham,  who  led  the  defense, 
saw  at  once  the  fearful  blunder,  and  “  pounced  upon  it  as 
the  falcon  pounces  upon  its  prey”: 

“  That  you  may  understand  the  meaning  of  this  passage,  it  is  necessary  for 
me  to  set  before  you  the  picture  my  learned  friend  was  pleased  to  draw  of 
the  clergy  of  the  diocese  of  Durham,  and  I  shall  recall  it  to  your  minds  almost 
in  his  own  words.  According  to  him  they  stand  in  a  peculiarly  unfortunate  sit¬ 
uation;  they  are,  in  truth,  the  most  injured  of  men.  They  all,  it  seems,  enter¬ 
tained  the  same  generous  sentiments  with  the  rest  of  their  countrymen,  though 
they  did  not  express  them  in  the  old,  free,  English  manner,  by  openly  con¬ 
demning  the  proceedings  against  the  late  Queen;  and  after  her  glorious  but 
unhappy  life  had  closed,  the  venerable  the  clergy  of  Durham,  I  am  now  told  for 
the  first  time,  though  less  forward  in  giving  vent  to  their  feelings  than  the 
rest  of  their  fellow-citizens,  though  not  vehement  in  their  indignation  at  the 
matchless  and  unmanly  persecution  of  the  Queen,  though  not  so  unbridled  in 
their  joy  at  her  immortal  triumph,  nor  so  loud  in  their  lamentations  over  her 
mournful  and  untimely  end,  did,  nevertheless,  in  reality,  all  the  "while,  deeply 
sympathize  in  her  sufferings,  in  the  bottom  of  their  reverend  hearts ! 

When  all  the  resources  of  the  most  ingenious  cruelty  hurried  her  to  a  fate 
without  parallel,  if  not  so  clamorous,  they  did  not  feel  the  least  of  all  the 
members  of  the  community;  their  grief  was  in  truth  too  deep  for  utterance, 
sorrow  clung  round  their  bosoms,  weighed  upon  their  tongues,  stifled  every 
sound;  and  when  all  the  rest  of  mankind,  of  all  sects  and  of  all  nations,  freely 
gave  vent  to  the  feelings  of  our  common  nature,  their  silence,  the  contrast 
which  they  displayed  to  the  rest  of  their  species,  proceeded  from  the  greater 
depth  of  their  affliction ;  they  said  the  less  because  they  felt  the  more !  Oh ! 
talk  of  hypocrisy  after  this!  Most  consummate  of  all  the  hypocrites!  After 
instructing  your  chosen,  official  advocate  to  stand  forward  with  such  a  defence  — 


POLITICAL  ORATORS  —  BROUGHAM.  267 


such  an  exposition  of  your  motives  — to  dare  utter  the  word  hypocrisy,  and 
complain  of  those  who  charged  you  with  it!  This  is  indeed  to  insult  com¬ 
mon  sense,  and  outrage  the  feelings  of  the  whole  human  race !  If  you  were 
hypocrites  before,  you  were  downright,  frank,  honest  hypocrites  to  what  you 
have  now  made  yourselves,  and  surely,  for  all  you  have  ever  done,  or  ever 
been  charged  with,  your  worst  enemies  must  be  satiated  with  the  humiliation 
of  this  day,  its  just  atonement,  and  ample  retribution!  ” 

In  his  opening  speech  Mr.  Scarlett  had  expressed  his 
regret  that  the  clergy  had  not  the  power  of  defending 
themselves  through  the  public  press.  To  this  Brougham 
replied  that  they  had,  in  fact,  largely  used  it,  and  “  scur- 
rilously  and  foully  libelled'’  the  defendant: 

“  Not  that  they  wound  deeply  or  injure  much ;  but  that  is  no  fault  of  theirs : 
without  hurting,  they  give  trouble  and  discomfort.  The  insect  brought  into  life 
by  corruption,  and  nestled  in  filth,  though  its  flight  be  lowly  and  its  sting  puny, 
can  swarm  and  buzz  and  irritate  the  skin  and  offend  the  nostril,  and  altogether 
give  us  nearly  as  much  annoyance  as  the  wasp,  whose  nobler  nature  it  aspires  to 
emulate.  These  reverend  slanderers, —  these  pious  backbiters, —  devoid  of  force 
to  wield  the  sword,  snatch  the  dagger;  and  destitute  of  wit  to  point  or  to  barb  it, 
and  make  it  rankle  in  the  wound,  steep  it  in  venom  to  make  it  fester  in  the 
scratch.” 

To  give  an  adequate  account  of  Brougham  in  a  few 
passages  is  like  trying  to  compress  the  Amazon  into  a 
tea-cup.  In  one  session  of  Parliament  he  made  two  hun¬ 
dred  and  thirty  speeches,  of  which  he  says  in  an  epitaph 
which  he  wrrote  upon  himself, 

“  Here,  reader,  turn  your  weeping  eyes. 

My  fate  a  useful  moral  teaches; 

The  hole  in  which  my  body  lies, 

Would  not  contain  one-half  my  speeches.” 

In  this,  as  in  many  other  things,  he  was  an  exception  to 
the  ordinary  and  recognized  laws  of  success;  and,  as  one 
contemplates  his  marvellous  and  meteoric  career,  he  is 
tempted,  in  spite  of  its  brilliancy, —  even  in  spite  of  his 
magnificent  achievements  in  behalf  of  liberty,  education, 
and  charity, —  to  exclaim:  “Non  equidem  invideo,  miror 


magis. 


CHAPTER  X. 


POLITICAL  ORATORS:  IRISH. 


REATER  as  a  thinker  than  Chatham  or  Fox,  but  in- 


ferior  as  an  orator,  was  Edmund  Burke,  who,  in  the 
variety  and  extent  of  his  powers,  surpassed  every  other  ora¬ 
tor  of  ancient  or  modern  times.  He  was  what  he  called 
Charles  Townshend,  “  a  prodigy,1'  and  ranks  not  merely  with 
the  eloquent  speakers  of  the  world,  but  with  the  Bacons, 
Newtons,  and  Shakspeares.  His  speeches  and  pamphlets 
are  saturated  with  thought ;  they  absolutely  swarm,  like 
an  ant-hill,  with  ideas,  and,  in  their  teeming  profusion, 
remind  one  of  the  “  myriad  -  minded  11  author  of  Hamlet. 
To  the  broadest  sweep  of  intellect,  he  added  the  most 
surprising  subtlety,  and  his  almost  oriental  imagination 
was  fed  by  a  vast  and  varied  knowledge, —  the  stores  of 
a  memory  that  held  everything  in  its  grasp.  The  only 
man  who,  according  to  Adam  Smith,  at  once  compre¬ 
hended  the  total  revolution  the  latter  proposed  in  polit¬ 
ical  economy,  he  was  at  the  same  time  the  best  judge  of 
a  picture  that  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  ever  knew;  and  while 
his  knowledge  was  thus  boundless,  his  vocabulary  was  as 
extensive  as  his  knowledge.  Probably  no  orator  ever 
lived  on  whose  lips  language  was  more  plastic  and  duc¬ 
tile.  The  materials  of  his  style  were  gathered  from  the 
accumulated  spoils  of  many  tongues  and  of  all  ages;  and 
it  has  been  said  that  even  the  technicalities  and  appro- 


POLITICAL  ORATORS  —  BURKE. 


269 


priated  phraseology  of  almost  all  sciences  and  arts,  pro¬ 
fessions  and  modes  of  life,  were  familiar  to  him,  and 
were  ready  to  express  in  the  most  emphatic  manner  the 
exhaustless  metaphors  which  his  imagination  supplied  from 
these  sources. 

It  is  told  among  the  miracles  of  Mahomet  that  he 
enabled  his  followers  for  days,  not  only  to  subsist,  but 
to  grow  fat  on  the  sticks  and  stones  of  the  desert;  and, 
in  like  manner,  the  imagination  of  Burke  could  find  nutri¬ 
ment  in  statistics, —  the  veriest  dry-bones  of  finance  and 
fact.  “  It  could  busy  itself  with  the  fate  of  an  empire, 
or  with  the  condition  of  the  king’s  kitchen.  It  brought 
before  him  the  Catholic  who  groaned  in  the  bogs  of  Tip¬ 
perary,  and  the  African  who  rotted  in  the  slave  factories 
of  Guinea.  It  entered  the  royal  buttery,  and  in  a  moment 
the  dry  details  of  cooks  and  turnspits  are  wrought  into 
a  scene  that  might  have  provoked  the  envy  of  Sheridan.” 
A  burning  enthusiasm  for  whatever  object  engaged  his 
sympathies  was  one  of  his  leading  qualities;  and  hence 
vehemence,  passionate  earnestness,  and  declamatory  energy 
are  among  the  most  salient  qualities  of  his  speeches.  When 
his  passions  were  asleep,  he  was  one  of  the  most  sagacious 
of  men;  but  when  his  prejudices  were  roused,  he  “took 
his  position  like  a  fanatic  and  defended  it  like  a  philoso¬ 
pher.”  His  mind  when  thus  excited  has  been  compared 
to  the  Puritan  regiments  of  Cromwell,  which  moved  to 
battle  with  the  precision  of  machines,  while  burning  with 
the  fiercest  ardor  of  fanaticism. 

Burke’s  speeches  abound  with  examples  of  the  most 
solid  and  brilliant  eloquence,  argumentative,  emotional, 
and  descriptive,  while  they  also  contain  a  greater  number 
of  illuminative  ideas, —  of  pointed,  poignant,  and  poetic 


270 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


sentences, —  than  those  of  any  other  orator.  There  is, 
indeed,  hardly  any  species  of  oratorical  excellence  which 
may  not  be  found  in  them  in  heaped  profusion,  and  they 
needed  only  to  have  been  less  profound  and  reflective, 
and  to  have  been  delivered  by  a  speaker  with  adequate 
physical  gifts,  to  have  produced  a  profound  impression. 
Unfortunately  for  his  influence  as  an  orator,  both  his 
voice  and  his  manner,  his'  figure  and  his  gesture,  were 
against  him.  Tall,  but  not  robust,  awkward  in  gait  and 
gesture;  with  an  intellectual  but  severe  countenance,  that 
rarely  relaxed  into  a  smile;  speaking  a  strong  and  rather 
ungainly  Irish  brogue;  having  a  voice  which  was  harsh 
when  he  was  calm,  and  which,  when  he  was  excited,  became 
often  so  hoarse  as  to  be  hardly  intelligible;  it  is  not  won¬ 
derful  that  he  failed  to  ravish  his  hearers,  and  was  nick¬ 
named  “  The  Dinner  Bell  ”  by  men  who  had  been  spell¬ 
bound  by  the  imposing  figure,  the  eagle  eye,  and  the  pas¬ 
sionate  oratory  of  Chatham.  But  the  chief  cause  of  their 
weariness  was  his  mode  of  handling  his  subject.  Instead 
of  seizing,  like  Fox,  on  the  strong  points  of  a  case,  by 
throwing  away  intermediate  thoughts  and  striking  at  the 
heart  of  his  theme,  he  stopped  to  philosophize  and  to 
instruct  his  hearers,  and,  as  Goldsmith  says, 

“Went  on  refining, 

And  thought  of  convincing  while  they  thought  of  dining.” 

Johnson  tells  us  that  his  early  speeches  “filled  the  town 
with  wonder”;  but  he  adds  that  while  none  could  deny 
that  he  spoke  well,  yet  all  granted  that  he  spoke  “  too 
often  and  too  loner.” 

o 

Oratory,  it  has  been  justly  said,  like  the  drama,  abhors 
lengthiness;  it  abhors,  too,  above  all  things,  prolonged 
philosophical  discussion.  The  passions  to  which  it  appeals 


POLITICAL  ORATORS —  BURKE. 


271 


must  be  those  which  all  men  have  most  in  common;  the 
arguments  which  it  addresses  to  the  reason  must  be  those 
which  can  be  apprehended  by  men  of  plain  sense  as  read¬ 
ily  as  by  hair-splitting  casuists  or  deep-thinking  scholars. 
Even  beauties  themselves,  if  they  distract  the  attention 
from  the  main  theme,  become  blemishes.  Burke,  from  the 
very  depth  of  his  understanding,  demanded  too  great  an 
intellectual  effort  on  the  part  of  his  hearers;  he  exacted 
“  too  great  a  tension  of  faculties  little  exercised  by  men 
of  the  world  in  general,  not  to  create  fatigue  in  an  assem¬ 
bly  which  men  of  the  world  composed.”  As  an  orator,  he, 
too  often  forgot  the  great  objects  of  oratory,  conviction  and 
persuasion ,  and  failed  in  two  things  which,  it  has  been  said, 
are  given  but  to  few,  and  when  given,  almost  always  pos¬ 
sessed  alone, —  fierce,  nervous,  overwhelming  declamation, 
and  close,  rapid  argument.  “  He  can  seldom  confine  him¬ 
self,”  says  Henry  Rogers,  “  to  a  simple  business-like  view 
of  the  subject  under  discussion,  or  to  close,  rapid,  com¬ 
pressed  argumentation  on  it.  On  the  contrary,  he  makes 
boundless  excursions  into  all  the  regions  of  moral  and 
political  philosophy;  is  perpetually  tracing  up  particular 
instances  and  subordinate  principles  to  profound  and  com¬ 
prehensive  maxims;  amplifying  and  expanding  the  most 
meagre  materials  into  brief  but  comprehensive  disserta¬ 
tions  of  political  science,  and  incrusting  (so  to  speak)  the 
nucleus  of  the  most  insignificant  fact  with  the  most  ex¬ 
quisite  crystallizations  of  truth;  while  the  whole  composi¬ 
tion  glitters  and  sparkles  again  with  a  rich  profusion  of 
moral  reflections,  equally  beautiful  and  just.”  His  speeches 
were,  in  fact,  elaborate  political  lectures,  delivered  often 
with  the  air  of  a  pedagogue  teaching  his  pupils.  He  was 
what  Clootz  pretended  to  be,  “  the  orator  of  the  human 


272 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


race,”  and  while  he  could  harangue  man  eloquently,  was 
unskilled  in  the  art  of  addressing  men.  While  he  was 
expatiating  on  themes  of  eternal  interest,  his  hearers  were 
absorbed  in  the  business  of  the  hour,  and  had  little  sym¬ 
pathy  with  that  broad  and  high  political  philosophy,  out  of 
which  his  masculine  and  thoughtful  eloquence  sprang  like 
the  British  oak  from  the  strong  black  mould  of  ages.  So 
unsuited  to  the  House  of  Commons  was  his  method  of 
expounding  his  views,  that  Erskine  crept  under  the 
benches  to  escape  a  speech  which,  when  published,  he 
thumbed  to  rags;  and  Pitt  and  Grenville  both  decided  it 
was  not  worth  while  to  answer  another  of  his  famous 
harangues,  though  Grenville  afterward  read  it  with  ex¬ 
treme  admiration,  and  pronounced  it  one  of  his  grandest 
efforts.* 

A  less  important  fault  was  a  certain  lack  of  refinenrent 
and  delicacy  of  taste,  which  Wilkes  wittily  characterized 
when,  in  allusion  to  what  was  said  of  Apelles’  Venus,  that 
her  flesh  seemed  as  if  she  had  fed  on  roses,  he  declared 
that  Burke’s  oratory  “  would  sometimes  make  one  suspect 
that  he  eats  potatoes  and  drinks  whisky.’'  In  his  invec¬ 
tives,  especially,  Burke  often  indulges  in  the  most  intem- 
\perate  and  grossly  offensive  language,  which  sometimes 
reaches  such  a  degree  of  violence  as  to  provoke  a  reaction 
in  favor  of  his  victim.  In  his  fury  against  Warren  Hast¬ 
ings,  he  compares  him  to  “a  sow,”  to  “the  keeper  of  a  pig¬ 
sty,  wallowing  in  filth  and  corruption,”  and  to  “a  rat  or  a 
weasel.”  “  When  we  assimilate  him  to  such  contemptible 
animals,  we  do  not  mean  to  convey  an  idea  of  their  incapa- 

*  Mr.  Rush,  the  American  Minister,  relates  that  Erskine  said  to  him:  “I 
was  in  the  House  when  Burke  made  his  great  speech  on  American  conciliation, 
—  the  greatest  he  ever  made,— he  drove  everybody  away.  When  I  read  it,  I 
read  it  over  and  over  again;  I  could  hardly  think  of  anything  else.” 


POLITICAL  ORATORS — BURKE. 


273 


bility  of  doing  injury.  When  God  punished  Pharaoh  and 
Egypt,  it  was  not  by  armies,  but  by  locusts  and  lice,  which, 
though  small  and  contemptible,  are  capable  of  the  greatest 
mischiefs.”  In  his  picture  of  Carnot  drinking  the  life¬ 
blood  of  a  king,  and  “  snorting  away  the  fumes  of  indiges¬ 
tion"  in  consequence,  Burke  reminds  one  of  the  “scolding 
of  the  ancients.” 

But  let  us  not  dwell  upon  these  exceptional  passages 
of  Burke,  at  which,  in  his  cool  moments,  his  own  taste 
must  have  revolted,  but  pass  to  one  of  his  grand  out¬ 
bursts,  where  his  genius  shines  out  in  its  fullest  lustre. 
One  of  the  finest  specimens,  perhaps  the  finest,  of  Burke’s 
eloquence  is  the  famous  passage  in  the  speech  on  the 
Nabob  of  Arcot’s  debts,  in  which  is  described  the  descent 
of  Hyder  Ali  on  the  Carnatic.  Who  that  has  once  read 
it  can  ever  forget  “  the  black  cloud  ”  into  which  Hyder 
Ali  “  compounded  all  the  materials  of  fury,  havoc,  and 
desolation,”  and  “  hung  for  awhile  on  the  declivities  of 
the  mountains”;  the  “storm  of  universal  fire  that  blasted” 
the  land;  the  crowd  of  prisoners  “enveloped  in  a  whirl¬ 
wind  of  cavalry  ”  (an  illustration  like  one  of  Lucan’s, 
who  speaks  of  “a  storm  of  horse”);  “the  people  in  beg¬ 
gary, —  a  nation  that  stretched  out  its  hands  for  food”; 
the  absolution  “  of  their  impious  vow  by  Hyder  Ali  and 
his  yet  more  ferocious  son”;  an  absolution  so  complete 
that  the  British  army,  in  traversing  the  Carnatic  for 
hundreds  of  miles,  in  all  directions,  “  through  the  whole 
line,  of  their  march  did  not  see  one  man,  not  one  woman, 
not  one  child,  not  one  four-footed  beast  of  any  descrip¬ 
tion  whatever”;  and  the  climax,  where  the  orator  bids 
his  audience  figure  to  themselves  “  an  equal  extent  of  our 
sweet  and  cheerful  country, —  from  Thames  to  Trent  north 


274 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


and  south,  and  from  the  Irish  to  the  German  sea  east  and 
west, —  emptied  and  emboweled  (may  God  avert  the  omen 
of  our  crimes!)  by  so  accomplished  a  desolation?”  The 
best  proof  of  the  intense  vividness  and  power  of  this 
passage,  is  the  fact  that,  hackneyed  as  it  is,  and  worn  to 
shreds  by  schoolboy  declamation,  no  person  of  taste  and 
sensibility  can  read  it,  or  hear  it,  for  the  hundredth  or 
five  hundredth  time,  without  a  tingling  of  the  blood  in 
every  vein. 

It  would  be  difficult  to  name  a  more  striking  exam¬ 
ple  of  the  force  of  what  may  be  called  classical  prejudice 
than  Lord  Brougham’s  comments  on  this  memorable  pas¬ 
sage.  Contrasting  with  it  the  description  by  Demosthenes 
of  the  terror  and  confusion  at  Athens,  when  the  news 
arrived  that  Elateia  had  been  seized  by  Philip  of  Mace- 
don,  and  when,  amid  the  general  silence  that  followed 
the  proclamation  of  the  herald,  Demosthenes  arose,  and 
suggested  measures  that  caused  all  the  dangers  to  pass 
away  cixnvzp  v(y “like  a  cloud,”  Lord  Brougham  says: 
“  Demosthenes  uses  but  a  single  word,  and  the  work  is 
done.”  True;  but  what  is  the  work  that  is  done?  Is  there 
a  tyro  in  public  speaking  who  could  not  compare  the 
passing  away  of  a  great  danger  to  the  passing  away  of 
a  cloud?  It  is  the  prerogative  of  genius  to  take  an  old 
image  or  metaphor,  from  which  all  the  beauty  and  vivid¬ 
ness  have  faded,  and,  by  a  few  original  touches,  give  it  a 
new  brilliancy  and  effect.  In  the  present  case  Burke  has 
taken  a  hackneyed,  worn-out  figure,  and,  by  expansion  and 
elaboration,  has  transformed  it  into  one  of  the  most  pic¬ 
turesque  images  in  modern  oratory.  Again,  Lord  Broug¬ 
ham,  somewhat  hypercritically,  objects  to  the  confusion  in 
Burke’s  imagery  because  he  compares  Hyder  Ali’s  army 


POLITICAL  ORATORS  —  SHERIDAN. 


275 


first  to  “a  black  cloud,”  then  to  a  “meteor,”  then  to  a 
“  tempest.”  To  the  hearers  of  the  speech,  however,  we 
have  no  doubt  that  this  very  variation  of  the  imagery, 
at  which  a  pedagogue  would  carp,  served  only  to  heighten 
the  vividness  and  effect  of  the  picture  of  the  terrible  war¬ 
rior  and  his  host  advancing  from  the  menacing  encamp¬ 
ment  on  the  mountain  to  the  massacre  on  the  plain. 
So,  again,  the  secondary  touches  which  fill  up  the  picture, 
such  as  the  “  blackening  of  all  the  horizon,”  the  “  goading 
spears  of  the  drivers,”  and  “  the  trampling  of  pursuing 
horses,”  instead  of  diminishing  the  effect,  as  his  Lordship 
contends,  serve,  we  think,  to  swell  the  fearful  grandeur  of 
the  tempest  which  poured  over  the  plains  of  the  Carnatic. 
A  juster  criticism  is  that  of  other  writers,  who  complain 
of  the  visual  inaccuracy  of  a  “meteor,  blackening  all  the 
horizon,”  and  that  the  first  two  sentences  of  the  passage 
lack  simplicity  and  directness,  being  too  much  clogged 
with  qualifying  thoughts. 

Of  none  of  the  great  orators  of  Great  Britain  is  it  more 
difficult  at  this  day  to  form  a  just  opinion  than  of  that  ver¬ 
satile  genius,  Richard  Brinsley  Sheridan,  of  whom  Byron 
sang, 

“Nature  formed  but  one  such  man. 

And  broke  the  die  in  moulding  Sheridan.” 

There  are  acute  critics  who  even  deny  that  he  was  a  great 
orator.  His  taste,  they  declare,  was  radically  vicious.  His 
sentiments  were  clap-trap;  his  rhetoric  florid,  if  not  bom¬ 
bastic;  the  apostrophes  and  the  invocations  which  so  da.z^ 
zled  his  hearers,  were  only  fit  to  be  addressed  to  the  galle¬ 
ries  by  some  hero  of  a  melodrama.  He  was  not  an  eagle 

“  Sailing  in  supreme  dominion 
Through  the  azure  deep  of  air,” 


276 


ORATORY  A^D  ORATORS. 


but  only  a  kite,  with  a  keen  eye  and  heavy  body,  labori¬ 
ously  beating  his  way  through  the  reluctant  ether.  De 
Quincey  does  not  hesitate  to  pronounce  him  an  absolute 
charlatan;  he  was  a  mocking-bird,  he  says,  through  the 
entire  scale,  from  the  highest  to  the  lowest  note  of  the 
gamut, —  in  fact,  the  mere  impersonation  of  humbug. 
“  Of  Goldsmith  it  was  said  in  his  epitaph,  Nil  tetigit 
quod  non  ornavit ;  of  the  Drury-Lane  rhetorician  it  might 
be  said  with  equal  truth,  Nil  tetigit  quod  non  fuco  adul- 
teravit .”  There  is,  no  doubt,  some  ground  for  these 
accusations;  but  the  question  is  not  whether  Sheridan 
was  an  original  thinker,  or  whether  he  did  not  sometimes 
sin  against  a  fastidious  taste,  but  how  did  he  affect  those 
who  listened  to  him?  Was  he,  or  was  he  not,  a  formidable 
adversary  in  debate?  Did  he,  or  did  he  not,  stir  up  the 
souls  of  his  hearers  from  their  innermost  depths?  Did  he, 
or  did  he  not,  charm,  convince,  and  persuade  his  auditors? 
This  is  the  only  true  criterion  of  oratory,  the  great  end 
of  which,  it  must  be  remembered,  is  to  persuade,  and  by 
carrying  captive  the  passions,  to  attack  through  them  the 
citadel  of  reason.  Tried  by  this  test,  Sheridan,  we  think, 
must  be  pronounced  a  great  orator. 

To  begin  with,  he  had  naturally  many  of  the  elements  of 
a  first-rate  speaker.  He  had  a  pleasing  countenance,  a  voice 
with  mellifluous  tones  and  of  considerable  depth  and  com¬ 
pass,  a  rare  versatility  of  talents,  a  knowledge  of  the  human 
heart  and  the  way  to  touch  its  chords,  an  abundance  of  self- 
assurance,  and  a  temper  which  defied  every  attempt  to 
ruffle  it.  His  manner  was  theatrical,  but  full  of  life  and 
energy.  He  delighted  especially  in  antithesis,  apostrophes, 
and  rhetorical  exaggeration.  Habitually  indolent,  destitute 
of  profound  political  knowledge,  incapable  of  projecting 


POLITICAL  ORATORS  —  SHERIDAN. 


277 


great  measures,  he  yet  became  one  of  the  champions  of 
his  party,  and  was  more  feared  by  his  adversaries  than 
were  leaders  who  had  far  greater  knowledge  and  abili¬ 
ties.  Good  sense  and  wit,  we  are  told,  were  the  ordinary 
weapons  of  his  oratory;  it  was  hard  to  say  in  which  he 
excelled,  the  instinctive  insight  with  which  he  detected 
the  weak  points  of  an  adversary,  or  the  inimitable  raillery 
with  which  he  exposed  them.  “  He  wounded  deepest,” 
says  Wraxall,  “  when  he  smiled,  and  convulsed  his  hearers 
with  laughter,  while  the  object  of  his  ridicule  or  animad¬ 
version  was  twisting  under  the  lash.”  When  Pitt,  still  a 
young  man,  stung  by  his  witticisms,  undertook  in  that  vein 
of  arrogant  sarcasm  for  which  he  was  afterward  so  noted, 
to  crush  him  by  a  contemptuous  allusion  to  his  theatrical 
pursuits,  he  was  met  with  a  quick  and  sharp  rebuke: 
“  Flattered  and  encouraged  by  the  right  honorable  gentle¬ 
man’s  panegyric  on  my  talents,  if  I  ever  again  engage  in 
the  composition  he  alludes  to,  I  may  be  tempted  to  an  act 
of  presumption,  and  attempt  an  improvement  on  one  of 
Ben  Jonson’s  best  characters,  that  of  the  Angry  Boy ,  in 
‘The  Alchymist.’ ”  When  urged  to  speak  on  topics  which 
exacted  extensive  knowledge,  or  an  appeal  to  authorities, 
he  would  frankly  say:  “You  know  I  am  an  ignoramus; 
but  here  I  am, —  instruct  me,  and  I’ll  do  my  best.”  Few 
persons  could  have  acquitted  themselves  creditably  under 
such  disadvantages;  yet  such  was  the  quickness  and  pene¬ 
tration  of  his  intellect,  that  he  was  able  speedily  to  master 
the  information  they  provided,  and  to  pour  it  forth  with 
a  freshness  and  vivacity  that  seemed  like  the  results  of 
long  familiarity  rather  than  of  impromptu  acquisition. 

During  the  first  seven  years  in  Parliament,  Sheridan 
gave  no  signal  exhibition  of  his  powers  as  an  orator. 


278 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


His  short,  sharp  attacks  on  Pitt  and  Rigby,  and  occasional 
bursts  of  remonstrance  against  the  Tory  measures,  gave 
some  idea  of  his  mettle;  but  he  did  nothing  to  stamp 
him  as  “  the  worthy  rival  of  the  wondrous  Three,”  till 
he  took  part  in  the  impeachment  of  Warren  Hastings. 
Fortunately  for  the  display  of  his  genius,  he  was  assigned 
the  charge  relating  to  the  Begums, —  a  topic  which  gave 
full  scope  for  the  exertion  of  his  peculiar  powers.  On 
this  charge  he  delivered  two  speeches, —  one  in  the  House 
of  Commons,  the  other  soon  after  in  Westminster  Hall. 

Of  the  first  of  these  eagle-flights  of  full-grown  genius, 
which  occupied  five  hours  and  a  half,  no  adequate  record?'**' 
has  been  preserved.  It  is  enough  to  say  that  it  was,  by 
universal  confession,  one  of  the  most  dazzling  and  powerful 
efforts  of  oratory  in  modern  times.  Men  of  all  parties 
vied  with  each  other  in  their  praise.  “  One  heard  every¬ 
body  in  the  street,”  says  Walpole,  “raving  on  the  wonders 
of  that  speech.”  He  adds  that  there  must  be  a  witchery 
in  its  author,  who  had  no  diamonds,  as  Hastings  had,  to 
win  favor  with,  and  that  the  Opposition  may  fairly  be 
charged  with  sorcery.  Fox,  a  severe  judge,  declared  that 
“  all  that  he  ever  heard,  all  that  he  had  ever  read,  when 
compared  with  it,  dwindled  into  nothing,  and  vanished 
like  vapor  before  the  sun.”  Burke,  Pitt,  Windham  and 
Wilberforce,  agreed  in  placing  it  above  all  other,  even 
the  most  wonderful,  performances  of  ancient  or  modern 
times.  Within  twenty-four  hours  from  its  delivery,  Sheri¬ 
dan  was  offered  a  thousand  pounds  for  the  copyright,  if 
he  could  correct  it  for  the  press.  This  he  never  did,  and 
in  the  outline  that  has  come  down  to  us  we  have  but  a 
faint  adumbration  of  the  speech.  A  signal  proof  of  its 
power,  was  that  the  House  deemed  it  necessary  to  adjourn, 


POLITICAL  ORATORS  —  SHERIDAN. 


279 


to  give  the  astonished  audience  time  “  to  collect  its  reason,” 
and  recover  from  the  dazzling  enchantments  and  the  ex¬ 
citements  it  had  undergone.  One  member  declared  that 
“  nothing,  indeed,  but  information  almost  equal  to  a  mira¬ 
cle  could  determine  him  to  vote  for  the  charge;  but  he 
had  just  felt  the  influence  of  such  a  miracle,  and  he  could 
not  but  ardently  desire  to  avoid  an  immediate  decision.” 

But  the  highest  testimony  was  that  of  Logan,  the  de¬ 
fender  of  Hastings.  After  Sheridan  had  spoken  an  hour, 
Logan  said  to  a  friend:  “All  this  is  declamatory  assertion 
without  proof.1'  Another  hour  passed,  and  he  muttered: 
“  This  is  a  most  wonderful  oration.”  A  third,  and  he 
confessed:  “Mr.  Hastings  has  acted  very  unjustifiably.” 
At  the  end  of  the  fourth,  he  exclaimed:  “Mr.  Hastings 
is  a  most  atrocious  criminal.”  At  last,  before  the  speech 
was  concluded,  he  vehemently  protested:  “Of  all  mon¬ 
sters  of  iniquity,  the  most  enormous  is  Warren  Hastings!” 
At  a  later  day  Byron,  in  his  “  Monody,”  with  pardonable 
poetical  exaggeration,  sang: 

ikWhen  the  loud  cry  of  trampled  Hindostan 
Arose  to  heaven  in  her  appeal  to  man, 

His  was  the  thunder,  his  the  avenging  rod, 

The  wrath,  the  delegated  voice  of  God, 

Which  shook  the  nations  through  his  lips,  and  blazed 
Till  vanquished  senates  trembled  as  they  praised.” 

Among  the  epigrammatic  parts  of  the  speech,  one  of 
the  most  notable  is  the  denunciation  of  the  sordid  spirit 
of  trade  which  characterized  the  operations  of  the  East- 
India  Company  as  a  government: 

“  There  was  something  in  the  frame  and  constitution  of  the  Company 
which  extended  the  sordid  principles  of  their  origin  over  all  their  successive 
operations,  connecting  with  their  civil  policy,  and  even  with  their  boldest 
achievements,  the  meanness  of  a  pedler  and  the  profligacy  of  pirates.  Alike  in 
the  political  and  the  military  line  could  be  observed  auctioneering  ambassadors 
and  trading  generals ;  and  thus  we  saw  a  revolution  brought  about  by  affidavits; 
an  army  employed  in  executing  an  arrest;  a  town  besieged  on  a  note  of  hand; 


280 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


a  prince  dethroned  for  the  balance  of  an  account.  Thus  it  was  that  they  exhib¬ 
ited  a  government  which  united  the  mock  majesty  of  a  bloody  sceptre  and  the 
little  traffic  of  a  merchant’s  counting-house,  wielding  a  truncheon  in  one  hand 
and  picking  a  pocket  with  the  other.” 

An  acute  writer  has  well  observed  that  there  is  a  sin¬ 
gular  felicity  in  the  skill  with  which  the  speaker  here 
drags  down  the  governor  of  a  vast  empire  to  the  level 
of  the  common  herd  of  profligates  and  criminals  by  con¬ 
necting  his  greatest  acts  with  the  same  motives  which 
influence  the  pick-pocket  and  the  cut-throat.  “  By  bring¬ 
ing  the  large  conceptions  and  benevolent  aims  which  should 
characterize  a  ruler  of  nations  into  startling  contrast  with 
the  small  personal  aims  which  animate  the  heroes  of 
Hounslow  Heath,  he  had  an  opportunity  to  play  the  daz¬ 
zling  fence  of  his  wit  with  the  most  brilliant  effect.”  * 

When  the  Commons  had  voted  to  impeach  Hastings, 
Sheridan,  as  one  of  the  managers,  delivered  before  a  more 
august  assembly  another  oration  on  the  subject  of  his 
former  masterpiece, —  viz.  the  defendant’s  ill-treatment  of 
the  Benares  rajah  and  the  Oude  princesses.  The  pro¬ 
ceedings  opened  in  Westminster  Hall,  the  noblest  room  in 
England,  on  the  18th  of  February,  1788.  The  Queen  and 
four  of  her  daughters  were  present,  and  the  Prince  of 
Wales  walked  in  at  the  head  of  a  hundred  and  fifty  peers 
of  the  realm.  Never,  perhaps,  was  public  expectation,  on 
such  an  occasion,  wrought'  to  a  higher  pitch.  So  great 
was  the  eagerness  to  obtain  seats,  that  fifty  guineas  were 
paid  for  a  single  ticket.  For  four  days  the  great,  noble, 
and  beautiful  of  the  land  hung  on  the  eloquence  which 
Sheridan’s  former  great  effort  had  not  exhausted;  and 
though  his  oration  was  disfigured  by  many  extravagances 
and  meretricious  ornaments,  and  was  certainly  inferior  to 

*  “  Essays  and  Reviews,”  by  Edwin  P.  Whipple. 


POLITICAL  ORATORS  —  SHERIDAN. 


281 


* 

that  in  the  House  of  Commons,  yet  all  agreed  in  pro¬ 
nouncing  it  a  speech  of  prodigious  power.  Burke  went 
so  far  as  to  say  that,  from  poetry  up  to  eloquence,  there 
was  not  a  species  of  composition  of  which  a  complete 
and  perfect  specimen  might  not  be  culled  from  it.  In 
reading  the  verbatim  report  of  the  speech,  in  cold  blood, 
to-day,  we  find  little  to  justify  the  homage  which  it  re¬ 
ceived  on  its  delivery;  but  the  same  observation,  as  we 
have  already  seen,  may  be  made  of  many  of  the  most 
eloquent  speeches  that  have  ever  thrilled  an  assembly. 
Half  of  the  power  of  eloquence,  it  must  be  remembered, 
consists  in  its  adaptation  to  the  time,  place,  and  audience. 
Even  the  great  Oration  for  the  Crown,  the  mightiest  dis¬ 
play  of  eloquence  known  in  the  annals  of  mankind,  fails 
to  awaken  to-dav  in  the  soul  of  the  reader  the  senti- 

« j 

ments  of  enthusiasm  and  intense  admiration  to  which  it 
gave  birth  in  the  Athenian  Agora. 

Sheridan’s  greatest  defect  as  an  orator  was,  apparently,' 
his  lack  of  deep  convictions.  Without  these  a  command¬ 
ing  eloquence  is  impossible.  On  the  trial  he  was  wrought 
up  to  an  unusual  pitch  of  feeling;  but  commonly  he  was 
best  fitted  for  what  has  been  called  the  Comedy  of  De¬ 
bate.  Often  when  his  associates  failed  with  their  heavy 
guns  to  demolish  the  enemy’s  works,  his  lighter  artillery 
played  upon  them  with  telling  effect.  Overwhelming  his 
adversaries  with  ridicule,  he  was  equally  successful  in  de¬ 
fending  himself  from  their  shafts.  When  Mr.  Law,  the 
counsel  for  Hastings,  ridiculed  one  of  his  forced  and  tumid 
metaphors,  he  replied :  “  It  is  the  first  time  in  my  life 
that  I  have  ever  heard  of  special  pleading  on  a  metaphor, 
or  a  bill  of  indictment  against  a  trope.  But  such  was 

the  turn  of  the  learned  counsel’s  mind,  that,  when  he  at- 
12* 


282 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


tempted  to  be  humorous,  no  jest  could  be  found,  and  when 
serious,  no  fact  was  visible.”  Sheridan’s  excellence  in  all 
the  departments  of  oratory,  except  perhaps  the  strictly 
argumentative,  reminds  one  of  an  ancient  pentathlete. 
Inferior  to  Pitt  in  dignity  of  manner,  to  Fox  in  argu¬ 
ment  and  vehemence,  and  to  Burke  in  imagination,  depth, 
and  comprehensiveness  of  thought,  he  was  listened  to  with 
more  delight  than  any  one  of  them.  Burke,  in  spite  of 
his  gorgeous  periods,  was  often  coughed  down;  Pitt  wearied 
his  hearers  by  his  starch  and  mannerisms,  and  Fox  tired 
them  by  his  repetitions;  but  Sheridan  “won  his  way  by 
a  sort  of  fascination.”  When  he  arose  to  speak,  a  low 
murmur  of  eagerness  ran  round  the  House;  every  word 
was  watched  for,  and  his  pleasantry  set  the  whole  House 
in  a  roar.  In  the  social  circle  he  was  equally  bewitch¬ 
ing.  Byron,  who  declared  that  his  talk  was  “superb”; 
Fox,  who  pronounced  him  the  wittiest  man  he  had  ever 
met  with;  and  Moore,  his  biographer,  have  all  testified  to 
the  brilliancy  of  his  conversation,  though  none  of  them 

fhave  deemed  it  possible  to  do  justice  by  any  description 
to  those  quick  flashes  of  repartee,  that  rolling  fire  of  light 
raillery,  the  sharp  vollies  of  vivid  satire,  the  dropping 
flight  of  epigrams,  for  which  he  was  so  famed.  The  latter 
writer  has  happily  portrayed  him  as 

“The  orator,  dramatist,  minstrel,  who  ran 
Through  each  mode  of  the  lyre,  and  was  master  of  all; 

Whose  mind  was  an  essence  compounded  with  art 
From  the  finest  and  best  of  all  other  men’s  powers; 

Who  ruled  like  a  wizard  the  world  of  the  heart, 

And  could  call  up  its  sunshine  or  bring  down  its  showers.” 

Probably  no  orator  ever  bestowed  more  labor  upon  the 
preparation  of  his  speeches,  even  to  the  pettiest  details, 
than  Sheridan.  He  never,  says  his  biographer,  made  a 


POLITICAL  ORATORS  —  SHERIDAN. 


288 


speech  of  any  moment,  of  which  a  sketch  was  not  found 
in  his  papers,  with  the  showy  parts  written  two  or  three 
times  over.  His  memoranda  show  that  the  minutest  points 
had  been  carefully  considered,  even  to  marking  the  exact 
place  in  which  his  apparently  involuntary  exclamation, 
“  Good  God!  Mr.  Speaker,1'  was  to  be  introduced,  and  the 
occasions  on  which  he  was  to  be  hurried  into  impromptu 
bursts  of  passion.  Even  his  wit,  so  brilliant  and  spark¬ 
ling,  was  carefully  conned  and  learned  by  rote.  Whole 
mornings  were  secretly  given  to  it,  which  were  supposed 
to  be  spent  in  the  indolent  sleep  of  fashion,  and  many  of 
his  happiest  “  improvisations 11  were  jests  that  had  been 
kept  in  pickle  for  months.  Noting  down  his  best  thoughts 
in  a  memorandum-book,  as  they  occurred  to  him,  he  had 
always  at  hand  some  felicities  to  weave  into  a  conversa¬ 
tion  or  speech.  Some  of  these  absolutely  haunted  him, 
and  nothing  can  be  more  amusing  than  to  note  the  vari- 
ous  forms  through  which  some  of  his  sarcastic  pleasant¬ 
ries  passed  from  their  first  germ  to  “  the  bright,  consum¬ 
mate  flower  ”  which  he  gave  to  the  public.  It  was  in 
allusion  to  this  practice  of  preparing  and  polishing  his 
jests,  and  waiting  for  an  opportunity  to  fire  them  off, — 
of  creating  an  opportunity  when  it  was  slow  to  come, — 
that  Pitt  taunted  him  with  his  “  hoarded  repartees  and 
matured  jests.11 

Of  these  elaborated  impromptus  the  following  is  an  ex¬ 
ample.  In  his  commonplace  book  he  speaks  of  a  person 
“  who  employs  his  fancy  in  his  narrative,  and  keeps  his 
recollections  for  his  wit."  This  was  afterward  expanded 
into  the  following:  “  When  he  makes  his  jokes,  you  ap¬ 
plaud  the  accuracy  of  his  memory,  and  it  is  only  when 
he  .states  his  facts  that  you  admire  the  flights  of  his  im- 


284 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


agination/’  But  so  sparkling  a  jest  was  not  to  be  hid¬ 
den  in  the  pages  of  a  note-book;  so  it  was  fired  off  at  a 
composer  of  music  who  had  turned  wine-merchant:  “You 
will  import  your  music,  and  compose  your  wine.”  Even 
this  use  of  the  thought  did  not  satisfy  Sheridan,  while  its 
capabilities  of  application  were  still  unexhausted;  and  so 
it  was  fired  off  in  a  seemingly  careless  parenthesis,  in  a 
speech  in  reply  to  Dundas,  “  a  right  honorable  gentleman 
who  generally  resorts  to  his  memory  for  his  jokes,  and 
to  his  imagination  for  his  facts.”  Again,  Sheridan  was 
greatly  pleased,  apparently,  with  a  metaphor  he  had  drawn 
from  the  terms  of  military  science.  “A  true  trained  wit,” 
he  says,  “lays  his  plan  like  a  general, —  foresees  the  cir¬ 
cumstances  of  the  conversation, —  surveys  the  ground  and 
contingences, —  and  detaches  a  person  to  draw  you  into 
the  palpable  ambuscade  of  his  ready-made  joke.”  This 
idea  next  appears  in  a  sketch  of  a  lady  who  affects  poet¬ 
ry:  “I  made  regular  approaches  to  her  by  sonnets  and 
rebuses, —  a  rondeau  of  circumvallation, —  her  pride  sapped 
by  an  elegy,  and  her  reserve  surprised  by  an  impromptu; 
proceeding  to  storm  with  Pindarics,  she  at  last  saved  the 
further  effusion  of  ink  by  a  capitulation.”  Most  wits 
would  have  been  satisfied  with  these  triumphs;  but  Sheri¬ 
dan  cannot  abandon  the  witticism  till  he  has  shot  it 
forth  in  a  more  elaborate  and  polished  form  in  the  House 
of  Commons.  The  Duke  of  Richmond  having  introduced, 
in  the  session  of  1786,  a  plan  for  the  fortification  of  dock¬ 
yards,  Sheridan  complimented  him  on  his  genius  as  an 
engineer  in  the  following  mocking  strain:  “He  had  made 
his  Report  an  argument  of  posts,  and  conducted  his  rea¬ 
soning  upon  principles  of  trigonometry  as  well  as  logic. 
There  were  certain  detached  data,  like  advanced  works, 


POLITICAL  ORATORS  —  SHERIDAN. 


285 


to  keep  the  enemy  at  a  distance  from  the  main  objects 
in  debate.  Strong  provisions  covered  the  flanks  of  his  as¬ 
sertions.  His  very  queries  were  in  casements.  No  im¬ 
pression,  therefore,  was  to  be  made  on  this  fortress  of 
sophistry  by  desultory  observations;  and  it  was  necessary 
to  sit  down  before  it,  and  assail  it  by  regular  approaches. 
It  was  fortunate,  however,  to  observe,  that  notwithstand¬ 
ing  all  the  skill  employed  by  the  noble  and  literary  en¬ 
gineer,  his  mode  of  defense  on  paper  was  open  to  the 
same  objections  which  had  been  urged  against  his  other 
fortifications,  that  if  his  adversary  got  possession  of  one 
of  his  posts,  it  became  strength  against  him,  and  the 
means  of  subduing  the  whole  line  of  his  arguments.”* 

It  was  unfortunate  for  Sheridan’s  reputation  as  an 
orator  that  he  was  the  son  of  a  player,  a  dramatist,  and 

*  Because  Sheridan  thus  prepared  many  of  his  brilliant  sallies,  it  has  been 
the  fashion  to  scoff  at  his  genius,  and  to  infer  that  he  was  incapable  of  im¬ 
provising  a  splendid  burst  of  eloquence  or  a  sparkling  witticism.  The  fact 
is,  that  nearly  all  great  speakers  have  elaborated  their  finest  passages,  but, 
luckily,  they  have  not  all,  like  Sheridan,  had  biographers  who  have  revealed 
“  the  secrets  of  the  shop.”  A  sensible  writer  says  truly  that  most  men  of 
genius  spend  half  of  their  time  in  day-dreaming  about  the  art  or  subject  in 
which  they  are  interested  or  excel.  The  painter  is  peopling  space  with  the 
forms  that  are  to  breathe  on  canvas;  the  poet  is  murmuring  the  words  that 
are  to  burn  along  his  lines;  and  the  wit  who  is  welcomed  at  rich  men’s  feasts, 
is  constantly  turning  over  his  jests  in  his  memory,  to  see  what  form  of  ex¬ 
pression  will  give  them  the  most  piquancy  and  point.  There  is  no  objection 
to  the  use  of  the  utmost  art  in  the  preparation  of  important  passages  in  a 
speech,  if  only  the  art  is  not  apparent.  It  is  well  known  that  it  was  in  fish¬ 
ing  for  trout  in  Marshfield,  that  Webster  (who  “  in  bait  and  debate  was  equally 
persuasive”)  composed  the  famous  passage  on  the  surviving  veterans  of  the 
battle  for  his  first  Bunker  Hill  address.  “He  would  pull  out  a  lusty  speci¬ 
men,”  says  Starr  King,  “  shouting  1  venerable  men,  you  have  come  down  to  us 
from  a  former  generation.  Heaven  has  bounteously  lengthened  out  your  lives, 
that  you  might  behold  this  joyous  day.’  He  would  unhook  them  into  his 
basket,  declaiming,  ‘  You  are  gathered  to  your  fathers,  and  live  only  to  your 
country  in  her  grateful  remembrance  and  your  own  bright  example.’  In  his 
boat,  fishing  for  a  cod,  he  composed  or  rehearsed  the  passage  in  it  on  Lafayette, 
when  he  hooked  a  very  large  cod,  and,  as  he  pulled  his  nose  above  water, 
exclaimed,  ‘Welcome!  all  hail!  and  thrice  welcome,  citizen  of  two  hemi¬ 
spheres.’  ” 


286 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


the  manager  of  a  theatre.  That  his  critics  have  con¬ 
sequently  looked  upon  him  as  an  actor,  not  to  say  a 
charlatan  and  a  trickster, —  cannot  be  doubted.  .How 
much  of  his  careless,  procrastinating  way  sprang  from 
natural  tendencies,  and  how  much  from  a  secret  love  of 
display  and  startling  surprises,  it  is  hard  to  say.  Though 
he  hated  all  needless  and  much  needed  labor,  he  could 
yet  toil  terribly  for  special  ends.  His  practice  in  great 
emergences,  was  “  to  rise  at  four  in  the  morning,  light 
up  a  prodigious  quantity  of  candles  around  him,  and  eat 
toasted  muffins  while  he  worked."  When,  during  the 
trial  of  Hastings,  he  was  called  on  to  reply  to  Mr.  Law, 
and  was  asked  by  a  brother  manager  for  his  bag  and 
papers,  he  answered  that  he  had  none,  but  would  get 
through  his  speech  by  hook  or  crook  without  them.  “  He 
would  abuse  Mr.  Law,  ridicule  Plumer’s  long  orations, 
make  the  court  laugh,  please  the  women,  and  get  triumph¬ 
antly  through  the  whole."  As  he  went  on,  the  Lord  Chan¬ 
cellor  again  insisted  on  the  reading  of  the  minutes;  and 
Fox,  alarmed  lest  the  lack  of  them  should  ruin  the  speech, 
inquired  anxiously  for  the  bag.  “  The  man  has  no  bag," 
whispered  Taylor.  The  whole  scene,  Moore  says,  was  a 
contrivance  of  Sheridan  to  astonish  his  hearers  by  his 
ability  to  make  a  speech  without  materials,  since  he  had 
shut  himself  up  for  several  days  at  Wanstead  to  elaborate 
this  very  oration,  and  read  and  wrote  so  hard  that  he 
complained  at  evening  that  he  had  motes  before  his  eyes. 
“  It  was  the  fate  of  Mr.  Sheridan  throughout  life,"  says 
his  biographer,  “  and  in  a  great  degree  his  policy,  to  gain 
credit  for  excessive  indolence  and  carelessness,  while  few 
persons,  with  so  much  natural  brilliancy  of  talents,  ever 
employed  more  art  and  circumspection  in  their  display." 


POLITICAL  ORATORS  —  GRATTAN. 


287 


In  the  very  front  rank  of  the  many  brilliant  orators 
whom  Ireland  has  produced  stands  Henry  Grattan.  In 
his  earliest  youth  he  showed  a  remarkable  taste  for  ora¬ 
tory,  and  he  began  to  cultivate  it  almost  as  soon  as  he 
left  college.  Adopting  Bolingbroke  and  Junius  as  his 
models,  he  committed  certain  passages  of  his  speeches  to 
memory,  and,  revolving  them  continually  in  his  mind  till 
he  had  weeded  out  every  needless  word,  he  brought  his 
sentences  at  last  to  a  degree  of  nervousness,  polish,  and 
condensation,  that  has  hardly  a  parallel  in  oratory.  While 
reading  law  in  London,  he  fell  under  the  spell  of  Chat¬ 
ham's  eloquence,  and  from  that  moment  everything  else 
was  forgotten  in  the  one  great  aim  of  cultivating  his 
powers  as  a  public  speaker.  Among  the  means  he  adopted 
was  that  of  declaiming  in  private,  of  which  practice  some 
amusing  anecdotes  are  preserved.  It  is  said  that  his  land¬ 
lady  in  London  wrote  to  Ins  friends  requesting  that  he 
should  be  removed,  as  he  was  always  pacing  her  garden, 
and  addressing  some  person  whom  he  called  “Mr.  Speaker,” 
which  led  her  to  doubt  the  sanity  of  her  lodger.  It  is 
stated,  also,  that  in  one  of  his  moonlight  rambles  in 
Windsor  Forest,  he  stopped  at  a  gibbet,  and  began  apos¬ 
trophizing  its  chains  in  his  usual  impassioned  strain,  when 
he  was  suddenly  tapped  on  the  shoulder  by  a  prosaic  per¬ 
son,  who  inquired,  “How  the  devil  did  you  get  down?” 
About  this  time  he  took  also  a  prominent  part  in  private 
theatricals;  but,  owing  to  his  vehemence  and  abruptness 
of  manner,  his  awkwardness  and  redundancy  of  gesture, 
and  the  lack  of  modulation  in  his  voice,  he  met  with  but 
moderate  success. 

In  hardly  one  of  Grattan's  qualities  as  an  actor  was 
there  a  prophecy  of  his  future  greatness  as  an  orator; 


288 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


and  it  is  said  that  in  the  mechanical  parts  of  public 
speaking  he  was  always  deficient.  Laboring  under  many 
physical  and  intellectual  disadvantages;  short  in  stature 
and  unprepossessing  in  appearance;  almost  sweeping  the 
ground  with  his  gestures,  so  that  the  motion  of  his 
long  arms  was  compared  to  the  rolling  of  a  ship  in  a 
heavy  swell;  adding,  at  the  beginning  of  his  speeches,  to 
his  awkwardness  and  grotesqueness  of  manner  a  hesitating 
tone  and  a  drawling  emphasis;  gifted  by  nature  with  little 
wit  or  pathos,  and  no  pleasantry;  he,  nevertheless,  became 
one  of  the  greatest  masters  of  oratory  within  the  walls  of 
St.  Stephen.  While  he  was  inferior  to  several  of  his  great 
contemporaries  as  a  mere  debater,  he  combined  two  of  the 
highest  qualities  of  an  orator  to  a  degree  that  was  almost 
unexampled.  “  No  British  orator,”  says  Mr.  Lecky,  “  ex¬ 
cept  Chatham,  had  an  equal  power  of  firing  an  educated 
audience  with  an  intense  enthusiasm,  or  of  animating  and 
inspiring  a  nation.  No  British  orator  except  Burke  had 
an  equal  power  of  sowing  his  speeches  with  profound 
aphorisms  and  associating  transient  questions  with  eternal 
truths.  His  thoughts  naturally  crystallized  into  epigrams; 
his  arguments  were  condensed  with  such  admirable  force 
and  clearness  that  they  assumed  almost  the  appearance  of 
axioms;  and  they  were  often  interspersed  with  sentences 
of  concentrated  poetic  beauty,  which  flashed  upon  the 
audience  with  all  the  force  of  sudden  inspiration,  and 
which  were  long  remembered  and  repeated.”  His  element, 
in  the  opinion  of  another  critic,  who  often  heard  him  in 
Parliament,  was  grandeur.  As  it  was  said  of  Michael 
Angelo  that  there  was  life  in  every  touch  of  his  chisel,  and 
that  he  struck  out  forms  and  features  from  the  marble 
with  the  power  of  a  creator,  so  it  might  be  said  of  Grat- 


POLITICAL  ORATORS  —  GRATTAN. 


289 


tan,  that  there  was  nothing  mean  or  commonplace  in  his 
thoughts  or  images,  but  everything  came  fresh  from  his 
mind  with  the  energy  and  vividness  of  a  new  creation. 
He  had  the  power  of  investing  the  humblest  themes  with 
a  sudden  magnitude,  and  even  the  grievances  of  a  casual 
impost,  the  delinquencies  of  the  police,  the  artifices  of  an 
election,  or  the  formalities  of  a  measure  of  finance,  became 
under  his  hand  historic  subjects,  and  were  associated  with 
recollections  of  intellectual  triumph. 

In  the  invention,  choice,  and  arrangement  of  arguments, 
he  shows  an  originality,  sagacity,  and  copiousness  equal 
to  those  of  any  other  British  speaker;  but  his  chief  aim 
is  not  so  much  to  conduct  his  hearers  through  long  trains 
of  reasoning,  as  to  give  them  the  concrete  results  of  rea¬ 
son  itself, —  not  to  lead  their  minds  to  the  understanding 
of  a  question  by  the  labyrinth  of  a  slow,  tedious  logical 
process,  but  by  a  single  flash  to  fill  them  with  illumina¬ 
tive  conviction.  It  is  this  brilliant  impassioned  ardor, 
this  impetuous  movement,  which  preeminently  distinguishes 
the  oratory  of  Grattan,  and  impresses  the  reader  of  his 
speeches  even  more,  perhaps,  than  his  profound  knowl¬ 
edge,  his  wisdom,  his  consummate  art,  his  beautiful  im¬ 
agery,  and  his  exquisite  diction,  which  we  know  not  for 
what  quality  most  to  admire, —  for  its  force,  eloquence,  and 
precision,  or  for  that  wondrous  dithyrambic  melody,  that 
exquisite  music  of  cadence,  in  which  Grattan  stands  among 
all  orators  supreme.  The  blaze,  the  rapidity,  the  penetra¬ 
tion  of  Grattan’s  oratory,  struck  all  who  heard  him.  He 
poured  out  his  arguments  like  a  shower  of  arrows,  but  they 
were  arrows  tipped  with  fire.  He  was  unmatched  in  crush¬ 
ing  invective,  in  delineations  of  character,  in  terse,  lumi¬ 
nous  statement;  he  delighted  in  severe,  concentrated  ar- 
13 


290 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


gument,  in  biting  sarcasm,  and  in  flashing  his  ideas  on 
the  mind  with  a  sudden,  startling  abruptness.  In  many 
of  his  sentences  there  is  a  condensed  energy  of  expression 
which  almost  equals  that  of  Tacitus.  What  an  amount 
of  feeling  is  conveyed  in  that  sentence  so  famous  for  its 
touching  and  concentrated  beauty,  in  which  he  speaks  of 
his  efforts  to  establish  the  freedom  of  the  Irish  Parlia¬ 
ment,  and  says:  “I  watched  by  its  cradle;  I  followed  its 
hearse! ” * 

Grattan,  unlike  nearly  all  other  orators,  seemed  to  have 
before  him  two  distinct  classes  of  hearers  when  he  spoke, 
—  the  audience  he  addressed,  and  a  more  enlightened 
auditory  of  the  thoughtful  few  who  could  appreciate  the 
highest  excellences  of  oratory.  He  spoke  so  as  to  con¬ 
vince  and  charm  his  hearers,  and  at  the  same  time  to 
instruct  future  generations.  His  chief  faults  were  his 
intense  mannerism,  his  occasional  incongruity  of  metaphor, 
and  his  excess  of  epigram  and  antithesis.  Occasionally, 
though  rarely,  he  was  obscure,  in  allusion  to  which,  and 
to  his  rapid  force  and  brilliancy,  his  eloquence  has  been 
picturesquely  characterized  as  “  a  combination  of  cloud, 
whirlwind,  and  flame.”  The  rhythmus  of  his  sentences, 
to  whose  exceeding  beauty  we  have  already  alluded,  must 
have  been  studied  with  great  care.  What  can  be  finer 
than  the  close  of  his  great  speech  in  1780,  on  moving  a 
declaration  of  Irish  right:  “I  have  no  ambition,  unless 
it  be  to  break  your  chain,  and  to  contemplate  your  glory. 
I  will  never  be  satisfied  so  long  as  the  meanest  cottager 
in  Ireland  has  a  link  of  the  British  chain  clanking  to  his 

*  In  allusion  to  this  passage,  O’Connell,  at  a  later  day,  proudly  said:  “  Grat¬ 
tan  sat  by  the  cradle  of  his  country,  and  followed  her  hearse:  it  was  left  for 
me  to  sound  the  resurrection  trumpet,  and  to  show  that  she  was  not  dead  but 
sleeping.” 


POLITICAL  ORATORS  —  GRATTAN. 


291 


rags.  He  may  be  naked,  he  shall  not  be  in  irons.  And 
I  do  see  the  time 'at  hand;  the  spirit  has  gone  forth;  the 
Declaration  of  Right  is  planted;  and  though  great  men 
should  fall  off,  yet  the  cause  shall  live;  and  though  the 
public  speaker  should  die,  yet  the  immortal  fire  shall  out¬ 
last  the  humble  organ  who  conveys  it,  and  the  breath  of 
liberty,  like  the  word  of  the  holy  man,  will  not  die  with 
the  prophet,  but  will  survive  him.”  The  speech  from 
which  this  peroration  is  taken  is  perhaps  the  finest  effort 
of  Grattan’s  genius.  Nothing  equal  to  it  had  ever  before 
been  heard  in  Ireland,  nor  was  its  superior  probably  ever 
delivered  within  the  English  House  of  Commons.  Other 
speeches  on  the  same  subject  may  have  matched  it  in  ar¬ 
gument  and  information;  but  in  startling  energy  and 
splendor  of  style  it  surpassed  them  all.  Grattan  did  not 
merely  convince  his  countrymen,  but  he  dazzled  and  in¬ 
flamed  them;  he  raised  the  question  of  Irish  freedom  into 
a  loftier  region  of  thought  and  sentiment  than  it  had 
ever  before  occupied;  and  we  are  not  surprised  to  learn 
that  he  became  from  that  hour  the  idol  of  his  country¬ 
men,  and  was  looked  upon  as  the  prophet  of  Irish  Re¬ 
demption. 

In  his  speech  on  the  Downfall  of  Bonaparte,  he  char¬ 
acterizes  Burke  as  “  the  prodigy  of  nature  and  of  acqui¬ 
sition.  He  read  everything,  he  saw  everything,  he  fore¬ 
saw  everything.”  Of  Fox  he  says:  “To  do  justice  to 
that  immortal  person,  you  must  not  limit  your  view  to 
this  country;  his  genius  was  not  confined  to  England, 
it  acted  three  hundred  miles  off  in  breaking  the  chains 
of  Ireland;  it  was  seen  three  thousand  miles  off  in  com¬ 
municating  freedom  to  the  Americans;  it  was  visible  I 
know  not  how  far  off  in  ameliorating  the  condition  of 


292 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


the  Indian;  it  was  discernible  on  the  coast  of  Africa 
in  accomplishing  the  abolition  of  the  slave-trade.  You 
are  to  measure  the  magnitude  of  his  mind  by  parallels  of 
latitude .”  In  the  same  speech  he  denounces  the  tyranny 
of  Napoleon  as  “  an  experiment  to  universalize  throughout 
Europe  the  dominion  of  the  sword;  to  relax  the  moral 
and  religious  influences;  to  set  heaven  and  earth  adrift 
from  one  another;  and  make  God  Almighty  a  tolerated 
alien  in  his  own  creation  A  Warning  England  not  to  de¬ 
sert  her  allies,  he  says:  “In  vain  have  you  stopped  in 
your  own  person  the  flying  fortunes  of  Europe;  in  vain 
have  you  taken  the  eagle  of  Napoleon,  and  snatched  in¬ 
vincibility  from  his  standard ,  if  now,  when  confederated 
Europe  is  ready  to  march,  you  take  the  lead  in  the  de¬ 
sertion,  and  preach  the  penitence  of  Napoleon  and  the 
poverty  of  England.” 

One  of  Grattan’s  most  electric  speeches  was  delivered 
when  he  was  prostrated  with  disease,  and  so  feeble  that 
he  could  not  walk  without  help.  It  is  in  this  speech  that 
occurs  the  memorable  passage:  “Yet  I  do  not  give  up 
my  country.  I  see  her  in  a  swoon,  but  she  is  not  dead. 
Though  in  her  tomb  she  lies  helpless  and  motionless,  still 
there  is  on  her  lips  a  spirit  of  life,  and  on  her  cheek  a 
glow  of  beauty: 

“‘Thou  art  not  conquered:  beauty’s  ensign  yet 
Is  crimson  in  thy  lips  and  in  thy  cheeks. 

And  death’s  pale  flag  is  not  advanced  there.’  ” 

Grattan  was  preeminently  a  born  orator.  Eloquence 
with  him  was  not  simply  a  means  to  an  end,  an  instru¬ 
ment  to  gain  power;  it  was  his  native  element,  a  necessity 
of  his  existence.  It  has  been  said  that  if  he  had  been 
born  among  the  backwoodsmen,  he  would  have  been  an 


POLITICAL  ORATORS  —  O’CONNELL. 


293 


orator,  and  would  have  roused  the  men  of  the  hatchet 
and  the  rifle.  Wherever  the  tongue  of  man  could  have 
won  influence,  or  impassioned  and  brilliant  appeals  could 
have  given  pleasure,  he  would  have  been  listened  to  with 
admiration  and  delight.  If  he  had  not  found  an  audience, 
lie  would  have  addressed  the  torrents  and  the  trees;  he 
would  have  sent  forth  his  voice  to  the  inaccessible  moun¬ 
tains,  and  appealed  to  the  inscrutable  stars. 

Among  the  popular  orators  of  Europe  it  would  be  im¬ 
possible  to  name  another  who  ruled  the  stormy  passions 
of  the  mob  with  so  absolute  a  sway  as  was  exercised  by  that 
giant  and  athlete  of  the  tribune,  Daniel  O’Connell.  He 
won  his  first  laurels  as  an  advocate,  and  rose  swiftly  to 
the  highest  rank  in  the  profession.  In  managing  a  cause, 
vigilance  and  caution  were  his  leading  characteristics. 
Naturally  impulsive,  he  affected  to  be  careless;  yet  a  more 
wary  advocate,  or  one  more  jealously  watchful  of  his 
client’s  interests,  never  scanned  the  looks  of  a  jury.  No 
great  lawyer,  it  is  said,  ever  had  a  truer  relish  for  the 
legal  profession:  he  had  the  eye  of  a  lynx  and  the  scent 
of  a  hound  to  detect  a  legal  flaw,  and  hunted  down  a 
cause  with  all  the  gusto  of  a  Kerry  fox-hunter  in  pursuit 
of  a  reynard.  Undiverted  from  attention  to  his  duties 
by  the  temptations  of  idleness  or  pleasure,  O’Connell  never 
failed  to  be  prepared  for  the  important  moment  of  trial, 
with  all  the  restless  power  which  a  strong  mind  and  a 
life  of  industry  bestow.  Few  were  so  intimately  acquaint¬ 
ed  with  the  Irish  character,  and  while  he  keenly  enjoyed 
baffling  the  counsel  for  the  prosecution,  and  bullying  or 
perplexing  the  witnesses  against  the  trembling  culprit  in 
the  dock,  he  was  rarely  defeated  by  the  skill  of  an  ad- 


294 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


versary,  or  the  stubbornness  or  cunning  of  a  witness.  In 
the  criminal  cases  .  he  played  the  part  of  an  indignant 
lawyer  to  perfection ;  caught  up  his  brief-bag  in  a  seeming 
fury,  and  dashed  it  against  the  witness-table, —  frowned, 
—  muttered  fearfully  to  himself, —  sat  down  in  a  rage, 
with  a  horrid  scowl  on  his  face;  bounced  up  again,  in 
a  fit  of  boiling  passion,  and  solemnly  protested  in  the 
face  of  heaven  against  such  injustice, —  threw  his  brief 
away, —  swaggered  out  of  the  court-house, —  then  swag¬ 
gered  back  again,  and  wound  up  by  brow-beating  and 
abusing  half-a-dozen  more  witnesses,  and,  without  any 
real  grounds  whatever,  finally  succeeded  in  making  half 
of  the  jury  refuse  to  bring  in  a  verdict  of  “  Guilty.” 

In  civil  causes,  also,  O’Connell  stood  at  the  head  of  the 
nisi  prius  lawyers.  In  case  of  legacies,  disputed  estates, 
and  questions  springing  out  of  family  quarrels,  he  is  re¬ 
ported  to  have  been  unrivalled  for  his  tact,  shrewdness, 
presence  of  mind,  and  especially  for  understanding  the 
details  of  business.  “  He  was  not  the  match  of  Wallace,” 
says  a  writer,  “in  showing  the  cogency  of  an  inapplica¬ 
ble  reason;  he  was  not  so  acute  as  O’Grady  in  piercing 
to  the  core  of  a  refractory  witness,  and  detecting  perjury 
or  fraud;  he  was  not  so  shrewd  as  Pennefather  in  puz¬ 
zling  the  judges  upon  some  subtle  point,  which  had  been 
raked  from  the  dusty  folios  of  technical  perplexity,  or 
hit  upon  by  long  and  abstruse  speculation;  he  had  not 
the  unimpassioned  but  graceful  eloquence  of  North,  pour¬ 
ing  upon  the  ear  like  moonlight  upon  a  marble  statue; 
but  he  exhibited  in  an  eminent  degree  the  characteristic 
excellences  of  them  all.”  He  had  a  profound  knowledge 
of  human  nature,  and  penetrated  the  motives  of  a  plain¬ 
tiff  or  defendant  with  matchless  skill.  His  stores  of  world- 


POLITICAL  ORATORS  —  O’COXtfELL. 


295 


ly  knowledge  and  legal  lore,  his  keenness  and  ingenuity, 
his  off-hand  Irish  readiness,  his  abundant  subtlety  in  the 
invention  of  topics  to  meet  an  adversary’s  arguments, 
united  to  a  penetration  that  never  left  one  point  of  his 
own  case  unexplored, —  his  jolly  temper  and  good-natured 
humor, —  his  biting  ridicule  and  vehement  eloquence, —  all 
together  rendered  him  absolutely  matchless  at  the  Irish  bar. 

O’Connell’s  mind  was  rather  strong  and  fiery  than  pol¬ 
ished  and  delicate.  He  was  not  a  classical  speaker,  and 
his  knowledge  of  literature  was  apparently  small.  There 
was,  at  times,  a  degree  of  coarseness  in  his  harangues; 
and  he  had,  indeed,  one  of  the  most  venomously  sarcastic 
tongues  ever  put  into  the  head  of  man.  He  used  to  say 
that  he  was  the  best  abused  man  in  all  Europe.  But, 
whoever  abused  him,  he  knew  how  to  repa}?  all  such 
scores  with  most  usurious  interest.  He  could  pound  an 
antagonist  with  denunciation,  riddle  him  with  invective, 
or  roast  him  alive  before  a  slow  fire  of  sarcasm.  A  good 
illustration  of  his  style  of  attack  is  furnished  by  the  fu¬ 
rious  altercation  between  him  and  Disraeli,  when  the  lat¬ 
ter  turned  Tory,  and  was  pronounced  by  O’Connell  as  one 
“  who,  if  his  genealogy  could  be  traced,  would  be  found 
to  be  the  lineal  descendant  and  true  heir-at-law  of  the  im¬ 
penitent  thief  who  atoned  for  his  crimes  upon  the  cross,” 
—  a  touch  of  genius  worthy  of  Swift  or  Byron.  Proba¬ 
bly  no  sarcasm  of  Disraeli  ever  made  an  enemy  writhe 
with  a  tithe  of  the  anguish  which  he  himself  suffered  from 
this,  which  went  like  a  poisoned  arrow  to  the  mark,  and 
rankled  like  a  barbed  one.  In  nick-names,  O’Connell  was 
especially  happy,  as  in  his  “Scorpion  Stanley”  and  “Spin¬ 
ning-jenny  Peel.”  The  smile  of  the  latter,  he  said,  was 
“like  the  silver  plate  on  a  coffin.*' 


296 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


As  a  popular  orator  before  a  miscellaneous  audience, 
O’Connell  had  few  equals.  John  Randolph,  who  had  good 
opportunities  of  forming  a  judgment,  pronounced  him  the 
first  orator  in  Europe.  Every  chord  of  the  “  harp  of  a 
thousand  strings1'  lay  open  to  his  touch,  and  he  played 
upon  it  with  a  master’s  hand.  His  voice,  which  Disraeli 
admitted  to  have  been  the  finest  ever  heard  in  Parliament, 
was  deep,  sonorous,  distinct,  and  flexible.  In  its  transi¬ 
tions  from  the  higher  to  the  lower  notes,  it  was  won- 
drously  effective.  All  who  heard  him  were  enchanted  by 
its  swelling  and  sinking  waves  of  sound,  its  quiet  and  soft 
cadences  of  beauty,  alternated  with  bass  notes  of  grandeur; 
and  even  its  “  divinely-managed  brogue  ”  added  not  a  little 
to  its  charm,  especially  when  he  indulged  in  sparkles  of 

“  Easy  humor,  blossoming 
Like  the  thousand  flowers  of  spring.” 

One  of  the  most  marked  traits  of  his  oratory,  was  its 
utter  self-abnegation.  He  had  no  rhetorical  trickery; 
he  never  strove,  like  his  contemporary,  Sheil,  to  strike 
and  dazzle, —  to  create  a  sensation  and  be  admired.  Of 
the  thousands  and  tens  of  thousands  who  heard  him, 
whether  thundering  in  the  Senate  or  haranguing  the 
multitude  on  his  route  from  his  coach-roof,  not  one  per¬ 
son  probably  ever  dreamed  that  a  sentence  of  that  flow¬ 
ing  stream  of  words  had  been  pre-studied.  His  bursts  of 
passion  displayed  that  freshness  and  genuineness  which  art 
can  so  seldom  counterfeit.  “  The  listener,”  says  Mr.  Lecky, 
“seemed  almost  to  follow  the  workings  of  his  mind, —  to 
perceive  him  hewing  his  thoughts  into  rhetoric  with  a 
negligent  but  colossal  grandeur;  with  the  chisel,  not  of 
a  Canova,  but  of  a  Michael  Angelo.” 

There  was  no  chord  of  feeling  that  he  could  not  strike 


POLITICAL  ORATORS  —  O’CONNELL. 


297 


with  power.  Melting  his  hearers  at  one  moment  by  his 
pathos,  he  convulsed  them  at  the  next  by  his  humor;  bear¬ 
ing  them  in  one  part  of  his  speech  to  a  dizzy  height  on 
the  elastic  wing  of  his  imagination,  in  another  he  would 
make  captive  their  judgments  by  the  iron  links  of  his 
logic.  No  actor  on  the  stage  surpassed  him  in  revealing 
the  workings  of  the  mind  through  the  windows  of  the 
face.  Not  the  tongue  only,  but  the  whole  countenance 
spoke;  he  looked  every  sentiment  as  it  fell  from  his  lips. 
“  He  could  whine  and  wheedle,  and  wink  with  one  eye, 
while  he  wept  with  the  other.’ ’  It  is  said  that  on  one 
occasion  a  deputation  of  Hindoo  chiefs,  while  listening 
to  his  recital  before  an  assembly  of  the  wrongs  of  India, 
never  took  their  eyes  off  him  for  an  hour  and  a  half, 
though  not  one  word  in  ten  was  intelligible  to  their 
ears.  His  gesticulation,  says  an  intelligent  American 
writer,  who  heard  him  when  at  the  height  of  his  fame, 
“  was  redundant,  never  commonplace,  strictly  sui  generis , 
far  from  being  awkward,  not  precisely  graceful,  and  yet 
it  could  hardly  have  been  more  forcible,  and,  so  to  speak, 
illustrative.  He  threw  himself  into  a  great  variety  of 
attitudes,  all  evidently  unpremeditated.  Now  he  stands 
bolt  upright,  like  a  grenadier.  Then  he  assumes  the 
port  and  bearing  of  a  pugilist.  Now  he  folds  his  arms 
upon  his  breast,  utters  some  beautiful  sentiment,  relaxes 
them,  recedes  a  step,  and  gives  wing  to  the  coruscations 
of  his  fancy,  while  a  winning  smile  plays  over  his  coun¬ 
tenance.  Then  he  stands  at  ease,  and  relates  an  anecdote 
with  the  rollicking  air  of  a  horse-jockey  at  Donnybrook 
fair.  Quick  as  thought,  his  indignation  is  kindled,  and, 
before  speaking  a  word,  he  makes  a  violent  sweep  with 
his  arm,  seizes  his  wig  as  if  he  would  tear  it  in  pieces, 


298 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


adjusts  it  to  its  place,  throws  his  body  into  the  attitude 
of  a  gladiator,  and  pours  out  a  flood  of  rebuke  and  de¬ 
nunciation.” 

In  person,  O’Connell  had  many  of  the  qualifications 
of  an  orator,  his  appearance  corresponding  to  his  mind. 
He  was  tall  and  muscular,  with  a  broad  chest,  and  Her¬ 
culean  shoulders  as  extensive  as  the  burden  he  had  to 
bear.  From  his  strong  and  homely  look,  and  his  careless 
and  independent  swing  as  he  walked  along,  he  might 
have  been  taken  for  a  plain,  wealthy  farmer,  had  not  his 
face  been  occasionally  enlivened  by  an  eye  of  fire.  In 
private  life  he  was  enthusiastically  admired.  Warm  and 
generous  in  his  feelings,  cordial  and  frank  in  his  manners, 
loving  a  good  joke,  having  an  exhaustless  supply  of  wit 
and  humor,  he  was  every  way  so  fascinating  in  manners, 
that  even  the  veriest  Orangeman  who  had  drunk  knee- 
deep  to  the  “  Glorious  Memory,”  and  strained  his  throat 
in  giving  “  one  cheer  more  ”  for  Protestant  ascendency, 
could  not  sit  ten  minutes  by  the  side  of  the  “  Great  Agi¬ 
tator  ”  without  being  charmed  into  the  confession  that 
no  man  was  ever  better  fitted  to  win  and  hold  the  hearts 
of  his  countrymen.  He  was  a  born  king  among  his  fel¬ 
low-men, —  so  truly  such,  that  even  his  faults  and  errors 
had  a  princely  air.  His  early  excesses  and  sins  were 
royal  in  their  extravagance.  His  highest  glory  is,  that, 
though  not  a  statesman,  he  was  a  daring  and  successful 
political  agitator;  that  he  revolutionized  the  whole  social 
system  of  Ireland,  and  remodelled  by  his  influence  its 
representative,  ecclesiastical  and  educational  institutions; 
that,  if  he  indulged  sometimes  in  ribaldry  and  vulgar 
abuse,  his  fury  was  poured  out  upon  meanness,  injustice, 
and  oppression;  that  he  championed  the  cause  of  human- 


POLITICAL  ORATORS  —  SHEIL. 


299 


ity  without  regard  to  clime,  color,  or  condition;  and  that 
wherever  the  moan  of  the  oppressed  was  heard,  there,  too, 
was  heard  the  trumpet-voice  of  O’Connell,  rousing  the 
sympathies  of  mankind,  rebuking  the  tyrant,  and  cheering 
the  victim. 

Lack  of  space  forbids  us  from  attempting  to  portray 
the  oratory  of  Richard  Lalor  Sheil,  so  utterly  unlike 
that  of  O’Connell,  with  whom  he  was  so  often  associated. 
A  Southern  writer,  about  thirty  years  ago,  thus  vividly 
contrasted  the  artificial  styles  of  Sheil  and  Macaulay  with 
the  spontaneous  eloquence  of  Grattan  and  Burke:  “Ma¬ 
caulay’s  genius  is  the  genius  of  scholasticism.  He  is  a 
living  library;  and  the  old  vulgarism,  ‘He  talks  like  a 
book,'  is  a  literal  truth  in  his  case.  We  look  upon  him 
as  the  last  of  the  rhetoricians  who  considered  style  of 
more  importance  than  facts,  and  paid  more  attention  to 
the  manner  than  to  the  matter  of  their  discourse.  Nor 
is  he  even  the  greatest  of  that  school.  He  was  excelled 
by  Richard  Lalor  Sheil,  who  had  always  laid  by  a  stock 
of  good  things,  pickled  and  preserved  for  use.  The  Irish¬ 
man  was  more  rapid  and  agile  than  his  Scotch  rival,  and 
sent  up  rockets  while  the  other  was  spinning  catherine- 
wheels.  A  shrewd  wit  called  Sheil  ‘  a  fly  in  amber,’  and 
the  title  was  appropriate  enough;  but  Macaulay  is  a  fossil 
of  far  greater  solidity  and  size,  and  of  less  immediate 
radiance.  Both  belong  to  the  artificial  school,  which  is 
rapidly  passing  away.  The  palmy  days  of  parliamentary 
oratory  in  England  must  be  over,  when  the  House  is  filled 
to  hear  Macaulay.  The  slipshod,  conversational  style,  which 
has  succeeded  the  dignified  declamation  of  the  last  genera¬ 
tion,  must  be  wearisome  and  worthless  indeed,  when  his 


300 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


cold  correctness  and  passionless  pomp  are  hailed  as  a  pleas¬ 
urable  relief.  Oh!  for  an  hour  of  Henry  Grattan,  with 
his  fierce  and  flashing  style, —  his  withering  sarcasm, — 
his  lofty  imagery,  which  flew  with  the  wing  of  an  eagle, 
and  opened  its  eyes  at  the  sun, —  to  rouse  these  prosy  cits 
and  yawning  squires  into  something  like  energy  and  life! 
Oh!  for  the  words  of  Burke,  so  rich,  so  rotund,  so  many- 
hued,  which  passed  before  the  gaze  like  a  flight  of  purple 
birds,  to  recall  to  the  jaded  Commons  a  sense  of  true 
imagination,  of  genuine  eloquence!  It  is  true  Burke  was 
called  4  The  Dinner  Bell 1  by  his  contemporaries,  for  his 
speeches  were  a  little  voluminous  sometimes ;  but  the 
nickname  was  given  in  a  time  when  4  there  were,  giants 
upon  the  earth  ’ ;  now  his  voice  would  be  considered  a 
tocsin;  such  is  the  degeneracy  of  British  orators!” 


CHAPTER  XI. 


POLITICAL  ORATORS:  AMERICAN. 

A  MERICA  has  produced  several  great  orators,  to  whom 
it  has  been  permitted  “  to  open  the  trumpet-stop 
on  the  grand  organ  of  human  passion”;  and  among  them 
there  is  no  greater  name  than  that  of  Patrick  Henry. 
Unfortunately  we  have  only  a  few  imperfect  fragments  of 
his  speeches,  and  his  fame  rests,  therefore,  not  on  authen¬ 
ticated  specimens  of  his  oratory,  but  on  the  tradition  of 
the  electrical  shocks  he  produced  on  great  occasions  by 
the  glow,  the  lightning  flash,  the  volcanic  fire  of  genius. 
Doubtless  there  is  much  exaggeration  in  the  traditional 
reports  of  his  voice,  his  manner,  and  the  necromantic 
effects  he  wrought;  but,  after  making  every  reasonable 
deduction  for  this,  we  cannot  doubt  that  he  was  one  of 
the  greatest  orators  that  ever  lived.  Like  the  bones  of 
an  antediluvian  giant,  the  portions  of  his  speeches  that 
have  come  down  to  us  are  proof  of  his  mental  and  moral 
stature.  Mr.  Henry  was  of  Scotch  descent,  and  was  born 
in  Virginia  in  1736.  His  father,  who  emigrated  to  this 
country  in  1730,  was  nephew  to  the  great  Scotch  histo¬ 
rian,  Dr.  William  Robertson,  and  cousin-german,  it  is  said, 
to  the  mother  of  Lord  Brougham.  Probably  no  man  who 
rose  to  eminence,  ever  gave  in  his  youth  so  little  promise 
of  distinction  as  did  “  the  forest-born  Demosthenes  ”  of 
America.  He  picked  up  a  little  Latin  and  Greek,  with  a/ 

301 


302 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


smattering  of  mathematics;  but  was  naturally  indolent, 
and  manifested  a  decided  aversion  to  study  which  he  never 
fully  overcame.  When  the  hour  came  for  application  to 
his  books,  he  was  generally  to  be  found  by  the  river-side 
with  his  fishing-rod,  or  in  the  woods  with  his  gun.  Often 
he  would  wander  for  days  together  through  the  fields  and 
woods,  sometimes  listlessly,  with  no  apparent  aim,  some¬ 
times  in  the  pursuit  of  game;  or  he  would  lie  stretched 
on  the  green  bank  of  some  sunny  stream,  watching  the 
ripples  and  eddies  as  they  whirled  along,  or  angling  in 
its  sparkling  waters.  The  same  distaste  for  labor  fol¬ 
lowed  him  into  the  pursuits  of  business,  where  he  only 
exchanged  the  pleasures  of  hunting  and  angling,  and  the 
luxury  of  day-dreaming,  for  the  melodies  of  the  flute  and 
violin,  and  tales  of  love  and  war.  Becoming  a  shop-keeper 
at  sixteen,  he  was  bankrupt  within  a  year;  a  two  years’ 
trial  of  farming  sufficed  to  prove  his  unfitness  for  that 
pursuit;  and  another  experiment  in  “keeping  store,'’  which 
lasted  but  for  a  year,  ended  by  making  him  penniless. 
Meanwhile  he  had  acquired  a  taste  for  reading,  and  had 
turned  to  account  his  intercourse  with  his  customers  in 
a  way  that  enabled  him,  when  he  came  upon  the  public 
stage,  to  touch  the  springs  of  human  passion  with  a  mas¬ 
ter-hand.  When  these  persons  met  in  his  store,  he  seized 
the  opportunity  to  study  human  nature  as  exhibited  in 
their  peculiarities  of  character;  and  it  was  afterward 
remembered  that  as  long  as  they  were  gay  and  talkative, 
he  generally  was  silent,  but  whenever  the  conversation 
flagged,  he  adroitly  re-began  it  so  as  to  bring  those  pecu¬ 
liarities  into  play.  One  book  seems  to  have  been  a  favor¬ 
ite  with  him.  Whilst  his  farm  was  going  to  ruin,  or  his 
customers  were  waiting  to  be  served,  he  was  absorbed  in 


POLITICAL  ORATORS  —  HENRY. 


303 


a  translation  of  Livy,  whose  harangues  had  a  peculiar 
fascination  for  him. 

At  length  the  thought  struck  him  that  he  might  make 
a  living  by  becoming  a  lawyer.  To  the  jealous  science 
which,  according  to  Lord  Coke,  allows  of  no  other  mistress, 
he  paid  his  attentions,  which  were  not  apt  to  be  undivided, 
for  six  weeks, —  a  high  authority  says,  one  month;  yet  dur¬ 
ing  that  time  he  read  Coke  upon  Littleton  and  the  Virginia 
laws.  It  was  with  some  difficulty  that  he  obtained  a  license 
to  practice,  and  it  was  only  upon  the  ground  that  he  was 
evidently  a  man  of  genius,  and  would  be  likely  soon  to  fill 
up  the  gaps  in  his  knowledge.  For  the  next  four  years  lie 
was  plunged  into  the  deepest  poverty.  During  most  of  thi^ 
time  he  lived  with  his  father-in-law,  and  assisted  him  in 
tavern-keeping.  At  last  an  occasion  arose  for  the  display 
of  his  latent  powers,  and  he  sprang  by  one  bound  into 
celebrity.  This  was  the  “tobacco  case,”  in  which  the  clergy 
of  the  English  church  brought  a  suit  to  recover  their  an¬ 
nual  stipend,  as  fixed  by  law,  of  sixteen  thousand  pounds 
of  tobacco.  The  crop  having  failed,  an  Act  had  been 
passed  by  the  Legislature  allowing  the  planters  to  pay  the 
tax  in  money,  at  the  rate  of  16s  8 d  per  hundredweight, 
although  the  actual  value  was  50s  or  60s.  This  Act  was  de¬ 
cided  by  the  Court  to  be  invalid,  and  nothing  remained  but 
to  assess  the  damages  by  a  writ  of  inquiry.  Mr.  Lewis,  the 
planters’  counsel,  threw  up  the  cause  as  hopeless,  and  they 
therefore  applied  to  Henry,  as  none  of  the  veteran  practi¬ 
tioners  was  willing  to  risk  his  reputation  upon  it.  When 
on  the  appointed  day,  in  1763,  the  cause  came  on  for  trial 
before  the  jury,  a  great  crowd  had  assembled  in  the  court¬ 
room,  both  of  the  common  people  and  the  clergy.  As  this 
was  Henry’s  first  appearance  at  the  bar,  curiosity  was  on 


304 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


tiptoe  to  watch  his  bearing  and  hear  his  accents.  Rising 
awkwardly,  he  faltered  so  in  his  exordium  that  his  friends 
hung  their  heads,  the  clergy  began  to  exchange  sly  looks 
with  each  other,  as  if  confident  of  their  triumph,  while  his 
father,  who  was  the  presiding  judge,  almost  sank  with  con¬ 
fusion  from  his  seat.  But  the  young  advocate  soon  recov¬ 
ered  his  self-possession.  Gradually  his  mind  warmed  with 
his  theme;  words  came,  “  like  nimble  and  airy  servitors,”  to 
his  lips;  his  features  were  lighted  up  with  the  fire  of 
genius;  his  attitude  became  erect  and  lofty;  his  action 
became  graceful  and  commanding;  his  eye  sparkled  with 
intelligence;  all  that  was  coarse  and  clownish  in  his  ap¬ 
pearance  vanished,  and  he  underwent  “  that  mysterious 
and  almost  supernatural  transformation,  which  the  fire  of 
his  own  eloquence  never  failed  to  work  in  him.”  The 
mockery  of  the  clergy  was  soon  turned  into  alarm.  For 
a  short  time  they  listened  as  if  spell-bound,  but  when,  in 
answer  to  the  eulogy  of  his  opponent,  the  young  lawyer 
turned  upon  them,  and  poured  upon  them  a  torrent  of 
overwhelming  invective,  they  fled  from  the  bench  in  pre- 
cipitation  and  terror.  The  jury,  as  we  have  already  seen 
(p.  17),  under  the  wand  of  the  enchanter,  lost  sight  of  law 
and  evidence,  and  returned  a  verdict  for  the  planters.  For 
generations  afterward  the  old  people  of  the  country  could 
not  think  of  a  higher  compliment  to  a  speaker  than  to  say 
of  him:  “He  is  almost  equal  to  Patrick  when  he  pled 
against  the  parsons.” 

From  this  time  Henry  became  the  idol  of  the  people, 
and  a  year  afterward  he  was  elected  to  the  House  of 
Burgesses.  His  first  grand  effort  in  this  body  was  in 
support  of  resolutions  which  he  had  introduced  against 
the  Stamp  Act.  The  old  aristocratic  members  were  star- 


POLITICAL  ORATORS  —  HENRY. 


305 


tied  by  his  audacity,  and  an  attempt  was  made  to  overawe 
the  young  and  inexperienced  member  at  the  very  outset. 
But  Henry,  though  almost  wholly  unsupported  by  the  in¬ 
fluential  members,  was  equal  to  the  occasion,  and  dashed 
into  the  ranks  of  the  veteran  statesmen  with  such  steadi¬ 
ness  and  power  as  scattered  their  trained  legions  to  the 
winds.  The  contest  on  the  last  and  boldest  resolution  was, 
to  use  Jefferson’s  phrase,  “  most  bloody,”  but  the  orator 
triumphed  by  a  single  vote.  The  intensit}^  of  the  excite¬ 
ment  may  be  inferred  from  a  remark  made  after  the 
adjournment  by  Peyton  Randolph,  the  King’s  Attorney- 
General:  “I  would  have  given  five  hundred  guineas  for 
a  single  vote.”  The  flame  of  opposition  to  British  taxa¬ 
tion,  which  Henry  had  thus  kindled,  spread,  as  if  on  the 
wings  of  the  wind,  from  one  end  of  the  land  to  the  other; 
his  resolutions,  with  progressive  changes,  were  adopted  by 
the  other  colonies;  and  the  whole  nation  speedily  found 
itself,  as  if  by  magic,  in  an  attitude  of  determined  hos¬ 
tility  to  the  mother  country. 

In  1774  Henry  was  elected  a  member  of  the  first  Con¬ 
gress,  and  in  this  august  body  his  superiority  was  estab¬ 
lished  as  readily  as  in  the  House  of  Burgesses.  Though 
the  delegates  had  met  for  the  express  purpose  of  resist¬ 
ing  the  encroachments  of  the  King  and  Parliament,  they 
had  apparently  not  fully  weighed  the  fearful  responsibil¬ 
ity  which  they  had  assumed  till  this  hour.  It  now  pressed 
upon  them  with  overwhelming  force,  and  when  the  or¬ 
ganization  of  the  House  was  completed,  a  long  and  solemn 
pause  followed,  which  Henry  was  the  first  to  break. 
Rising  slowly,  as  if  borne  down  by  the  weight  of  his 
theme,  he  faltered  through  an  impressive  exordium,  and 

then  gradually  launched  forth  into  a  vivid  and  burning 
13* 


306 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


recital  of  the  colonial  wrongs.  We  have  no  space  >  for 
the  details  of  his  speech;  it  is  sufficient  to  say  that  the 
wonder-working  power  of  this,  as  of  his  other  speeches, 
of  which  no  exact  report  has  come  down  to  us,  is  proved 
by  the  very  exaggeration  of  the  accounts  that  are  given 
of  them.  As  he  swept  forward  with  his  high  argument, 
his  majestic  attitude,  the  spell  of  his  eye,  the  charm  of 
his  emphasis,  the  “  almost  superhuman  lustre  of  his  coun¬ 
tenance,”  impressed  even  that  august  assemblage  of  the 
most  eminent  intellects  of  the  nation  with  astonishment 
and  awe.  As  he  sat  down,  a  murmur  of  admiration  ran 
through  the  assembly;  the  convention,  now  nerved  to  ac¬ 
tion,  shook  oil  the  incubus  which  had  weighed  on  its  spir¬ 
its;  and  Henry,  as  he  had  been  proclaimed  to  be  the  first 
speaker  in  Virginia,  was  now  admitted  to  be  the  greatest 
I  orator  in  America. 

A  still  greater  speech  was  the  memorable  one  delivered 
on  March  20,  1775,  when  he  brought  forward  in  the  Vir¬ 
ginia  Convention  his  resolutions  for  arming  and  equip¬ 
ping  the  militia  of  the  colony.  The  power  of  this  effort 
is  shown  by  the  fact,  not  only  that  it  has  been  worn  to 
rags  by  schoolboys,  with  whom  it  has  been  a  favorite 
selection  for  declamation  for  a  century,  and  that  it  still 
fires  the  soul  of  the  hearer  when  listened  to  for  the  hun¬ 
dredth  time,  but  that  the  measures  which  it  advocated 
were  adopted,  although  their  bare  announcement  had  sent 
an  electric  shock  of  consternation  through  the  assembly. 
Some  of  the  firmest  patriots  in  that  body,  including  sev¬ 
eral  of  the  most  distinguished  members  of  the  late  Con¬ 
gress,  and,  indeed,  all  the  leading  statesmen  in  the  Con¬ 
vention,  opposed  the  resolutions  with  all  the  power  of 
their  logic  and  all  the  weight  of  their  influence;  but  in 


POLITICAL  ORATORS  —  HENRY. 


307 


vain;  all  objections  were  swept  away  as  so  many  straws 
on  the  resistless  tide  of  Henry’s  eloquence.* 

One  of  Henry’s  best  efforts  was  his  speech  made  after 
the  Revolution  in  behalf  of  the  British  refugees.  Against 
this  class  a  bitter  and  deep-rooted  prejudice  was  cherished, 
and  to  overcome  it  was  no  easy  task.  What  can  be  finer 
than  the  following  appeal  both  to  the  reason  and  pride  of 
his  hearers? — “The  population  of  the  old  world  is  full  to 
overflowing.  .  .  .  Sir,  they  are  already  standing  upon  tip¬ 
toe  upon  their  native  shores,  and  looking  to  your  coasts 
with  a  wistful  and  longing  eye.  ...  As  I  have  no  preju¬ 
dices  to  prevent  my  making  use  of  them,  so,  sir,  I  have  no 
fear  of  any  mischief  that  they  can  do  us.  Afraid  of  them! 
—  what,  sir,”  said  he,  rising  to  one  of  his  loftiest  attitudes, 
and  assuming  a  look  of  the  most  indignant  and  sovereign 
contempt, — “  shall  we,  who  have  laid  the  proud  British  lion 
at  our  feet,  now  be  afraid  of  his  ivhelps?" 

If  we  may  judge  by  the  speech  in  the  case  of  John 
Hook,  Henry’s  powers  of  wit,  burlesque,  and  ridicule  were 
hardly  inferior  to  his  graver  faculties.  Hook  was  a  Scotch¬ 
man,  fond  of  money,  and  suspected  of  being  unfavorable  to 
the  American  cause.  Two  of  his  bullocks  had  been  seized 
in  1771  for  the  use  of  the  troops;  and,  as  soon  as  peace  was 
established,  he  brought  an  action  against  the  commissary. 
Henry  was  engaged  for  the  defense.  Mr.  Wirt,  Henry’s 
biographer,  states  that, — 

*  The  famous  phrase,  “We  must  fight;  I  repeat  it,  sir,  we  must  fight,1’ — 
was  suggested  to  Henry  by  a  letter  of  Major  Joseph  Hawley,  of  Northamp¬ 
ton,  Mass.,  to  John  Adams.  This  letter,  which  concluded  with  the  words, 
“After  all,  we  must  fight,”  was  read  by  Adams  to  Henry,  who  listened  to  it 
with  great  attention,  and,,  as  soon  as  he  heard  these  words,  erected  his  head, 
and  “  with  an  energy  and  vehemence  that  I  can  never  forget,”  says  Mr.  Adams, 

“broke  out  with — ‘ By  G - I  am  of  that  man's  mind /’”  Mr.  Adams  adds 

that  he  considered  this  to  be,  not  a  taking  of  the  name  of  God  in  vain,  but  a 
sacred  oath  upon  a  very  great  occasion. 


80S 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


“  He  painted  the  distresses  of  the  American  army,  exposed  almost  naked  to 
the  rigor  of  a  winter’s  sky,  and  marking  the  frozen  ground  over  which  they 
marched  with  the  blood  of  their  unshod  feet.  ‘Where  was  the  man,1  he  said, 
‘  who  had  an  American  heart  in  his  bosom,  who  would  not  have  thrown  open  his 
fields,  his  barns,  his  cellars,  the  doors  of  his  house,  the  portals  of  his  breast,  to 
receive  with  open  arms  the  meanest  soldier  in  that  little  famished  band  of 
patriots?  Where  is  the  man?  There  he  stands;  but  whether  the  heart  of  an 
American  beats  in  his  bosom,  you,  gentlemen,  are  to  judge.1  He  then  carried 
the  jury,  by  the  powers  of  his  imagination,  to  the  plains  round  York,  the  sur¬ 
render  of  which  had  followed  shortly  after  the  seizure  of  the  cattle.  He  depicted 
the  surrender  in  the  most  glowing  and  noble  colors  of  his  eloquence :  the  audi¬ 
ence  saw  before  their  eyes  the  humiliation  and  dejection  of  the  British,  as  they 
marched  out  of  their  trenches;  they  saw  the  triumph  which  lighted  up  every 
patriot  face,  and  heard  the  shouts  of  victory,  and  the  cry  of  ‘Washington  and 
Liberty,1  as  it  rang  and  echoed  through  the  American  ranks,  and  was  reverber¬ 
ated  from  the  hills  and  shores  of  the  neighboring  river.  ‘  But  hark!  what  notes 
of  discord  are  these,  which  disturb  the  general  joy,  and  silence  the  acclamations 
of  victory?  They  are  the  notes  of  John  Hook,  hoarsely  bawling  through  the 
American  camp ,  beef !  beef!  beef Z111 

Mr.  Wirt  states  that  the  clerk  of  the  court,  unable  to 
restrain  his  merriment,  and  unwilling  to  commit  any 
breach  of  decorum,  rushed  out,  and  rolled  on  the  ground 
in  a  paroxysm  of  laughter.  “Jemmy  Steptoe,  what  the 
devil  ails  ye,  mon?”  exclaimed  Hook,  the  plaintiff.  Mr. 
Steptoe  could  only  reply  that  he  could  not  help  it.  “  Never 
mind  ye,”  said  Hook;  “wait  till  Billy  Cowan  gets  up;  he’ll 
show  him  the  la’.”  But  Billy  Cowan’s  plea  was  unavailing. 
The  cause  was  decided  by  acclamation;  and  a  cry  of  tar  and 
feathers  having  succeeded  to  that  of  beef,  the  plaintiff 
deemed  it  prudent  to  beat  a  precipitate  retreat. 

In  appearance  Henry  was  rather  striking  than  prepos- 
sessing.  Tall,  spare,  raw-boned,  and  slightly  stooping  in 
the  shoulders, —  dark  and  sunburnt  in  complexion,  and 
having  a  habitual  contraction  of  the  brow  which  gave 
him  a  harsh  look  till  he  spoke, —  he  gave  no  indication 
of  the  majesty  and  grace  which  he  assumed  when  his  genius 
was  roused.  When  he  spoke,  his  whole  appearance  under¬ 
went  a  marvellous  transformation.  His  person  rose  erect; 


POLITICAL  ORATORS  —  HENRY- 


309 


his  head,  instead  of  drooping,  was  thrown  proudly  aloft; 
and  he  seemed  like  another  being.  His  eyes,  which  were 
overshadowed  by  dark,  thick  eyebrows,  were  his  finest 
feature.  Brilliant,  full  of  spirit,  and  capable  of  the  most 
rapidly  shifting  and  powerful  expression,  they  had  at  one 
time  a  piercing  and  terrible  aspect  which  made  an  oppo¬ 
nent  quail  beneath  their  gaze,  and,  at  another,  they  were 
“  as  soft  and  tender  as  those  of  Pity  herself.”  His  voice, 
though  not  musical,  was  clear,  distinct,  and  of  remarkable 
compass  and  power.  Its  persuasive  accents  were  as  mild 
and  mellifluous  as  those  of  a  lute;  but  when  rousing  his 
countrymen  to  arms,  it  was  like  the  war-blast  of  a  trum¬ 
pet.  His  gesticulation,  action,  and  facial  expression,  gave 
force  to  his  most  trivial  observations.  In  one  of  his 
speeches,  having  occasion  to  declare  that  the  consent  of 
Great  Britain  was  not  necessary  to  create  us  a  nation, — 
that  “  we  were  a  nation  long  before  the  monarch  of  that 
little  island  in  the  Atlantic  ocean  gave  his  puny  assent  to 
it,” — he  accompanied  the  words  with  a  gesture  which 
strikingly  impressed  all  who  witnessed  it.  Rising  on 
tiptoe,  and  half-closing  his  eyelids,  as  if  endeavoring 
with  extreme  difficulty  to  draw  a  sight  on  some  object 
almost  too  microscopic  for  vision,  he  pointed  to  a  vast 
distance,  and  blew  out  the  words  “  p-u-n-y  assent”  with 
his  lips  curled  with  unutterable  contempt.  In  the  same 
speech,  having  occasion  to  magnify  this  dot  on  the  Atlantic 
into  a  formidable  power,  he  found  no  difficulty  in  doing 
so  by  gestures  almost  equally  significant.  It  is  said  that 
his  pauses  were  eminently  happy,  being  followed  by  a 
singular  energy  and  significance  of  look  that  drove  the 
thought  home  to  the  mind  and  heart. 

In  arguing  abstruse  and  knotty  questions  of  law  he 


310 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


won  no  laurels.  As  we  have  seen,  he  acquired  little  legal 
lore  in  youth,  and  he  never  filled  up  the  chasms  in  his 
learning  in  after-life.  His  most  brilliant  successes  at 
the  bar  were  won  in  jury  trials.  In  these  he  was  always 
at  home.  No  performer  that  ever  “  swept  the  sounding 
lyre”  ever  had  a  more  imperial  mastery  over  its  strings, 
than  Henry  had  over  all  the  chords  in  the  hearts  of  the 
twelve  men  in  the  box,  when  he  sought  to  convince  them. 
“  The  tones  of  his  voice,”  says  an  able  legal  contemporary, 
“  were  insinuated  into  the  feelings  of  his  hearers  in  a 
manner  that  baffles  description.”  His  victories  were  due 
partly  to  this  oratorical  power,  and  partly  to  his  wonder¬ 
ful  knowledge  of  the  human  heart,  and  his  power  of  put¬ 
ting  his  reasoning  into  clear  and  pointed  aphorisms.  Often 
he  condensed  the  substance  of  a  long  argument  into  a 
short,  pithy  question,  which  was  decisive  of  the  case. 

A  British  reviewer  has  called  attention  to  the  striking 
resemblance  which  Henry’s  oratory  bears  to  Lord  Chat¬ 
ham’s,  notwithstanding  the  startling  discrepancy  between 
their  birth,  breeding,  tastes,  habits,  and  pursuits:  “The 
one,  a  born  member  of  the  English  aristocracy, —  the  other, 
a  son  of  a  Virginia  farmer;  the  one  educated  at  Eton 
and  Oxford, —  the  other,  picking  up  a  little  Latin  gram¬ 
mar  at  a  day-school;  .  .  .  the  one,  so  fine  a  gentleman 
and  so  inveterate  an  actor,  that,  before  receiving  the  most 
insignificant  visitor,  he  was  wont  to  call  for  his  wig,  and 
settle*  himself  in  an  imposing  attitude, —  the  other,  slouch¬ 
ing  into  the  provincial  parliament  with  his  leather  gaiters 
and  shooting-jacket.  But  they  meet  in  all  the  grand  ele¬ 
mental  points, —  in  fire,  force,  energy,  and  intrepidity  — 
the  sagacity  that  works  by  intuition, —  the  faculty  of  tak¬ 
ing  in  the  entire  subject  at  a  glance,  or  lighting  up  a 


POLITICAL  ORATORS  —  CLAY. 


311 


whole  question  by  a  metaphor, —  the  fondness  for  Saxon 
words,  short  uninverted  Saxon  sentences,  downright  asser¬ 
tions,  and  hazardous  apostrophes, —  above  all,  in  the  singu¬ 
lar  tact  and  felicity  with  which  their  dramatic  (or  rather  . 
melodramatic)  touches  were  brought  in.” 


The  greatest  speech  made  in  America  this  century  was 
made  by  Daniel  Webster  in  reply  to  Hayne.  The  greatest 
orator  of  this  country, —  Patrick  Henry,  perhaps,  excepted, 
—  we  think  was  Henry  Clay.  In  January,  1840,  it  was 
our  good  fortune  to  spend  nearly  two  weeks  at  Washing¬ 
ton,  mostly  at  the  capitol,  where  we  heard  speeches  by 
all  the  leading  men  of  the  two  houses.  We  need  not 
say  that  “  there  were  giants  in  those  days.”  It  is  enough 
to  call  over  the  names  of  Webster,  Clay,  Calhoun,  Critten¬ 
den,  McDuffie,  Preston,  Douglas,  in  the  Senate,  and  of 
John  Quincy  Adams,  Cushing,  Hoffman,  Evans,  and  Mar¬ 
shall  in  the  House,  to  show  that  the  dwarfs  in  that  Con¬ 
gress  would  be  giants  in  the  present.  The  first  day  we 
spent  in  the  House,  there  was  a  stormy  debate  on  the 
New  Jersey  question.  The  discussion  grew  so  violent  that 
members  shook  their  fists  at  each  other;  invitations  to 
“coffee  and  pistols”  were  given;  and,  to  prevent  a  tumult, 
the  House  adjourned.  This  sent  us  to  the  Senate  chamber, 
where  our  attention  was  at  once  arrested  by  a  voice  that 
seemed  like  the  music  of  the  spheres.  It  came  from  the 
lips  of  a  tall,  well-formed  man,  with  a  wide  mouth,  a 
flashing  eye,  and  a  countenance  that  revealed  every  change 
of  thought  within.  It  had  a  wonderful  flexibility  and 
compass,  at  one  moment  crashing  upon  the  ear  in  thun¬ 
der-peals,  and  the  next  falling  in  music  as  soft  as  that  of 
“  summer  winds  a-wooing  flowers."  It  rarely  startled  the 


312 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


hearer,  however,  with  violent  contrasts  of  pitch,  and  was 
equally,  distinct  and  clear  when  it  rang  out  in  trumpet 
tones,  and  when  it  sank  to  the  lowest  whisper.  Every 
syllable,  we  had  almost  said,  every  letter,  was  perfectly 
audible,  and  as  “  musical  as  is  Apollo's  lute.”  There  was 
not  a  word  of  rant,  not  one  tone  ’  of  vociferation ;  in  the 
very  climax  of  his  passion  he  spoke  deliberately,  and  his 
outpouring  of  denunciation  was  as  slow  and  steady  as  the 
tread  of  Nemesis.  He  gesticulated  all  over.  As  he  spoke, 
he  stepped  forward  and  backward  with  effect;  and  the 
nodding  of  his  head,  hung  on  a  long  neck, —  his  arms, 
hands,  fingers,  feet,  and  even  his  spectacles  and  blue  hand¬ 
kerchief,  aided  him  in  debate.  Who  could  it  be?  It  took 
but  a  minute  to  answer  the  question.  It  was, —  it  could 
be  no  other  than  —  Henry  Clay.  He  had  just  begun  an 
attack  on  another  giant  of  the  Senate;  and  the  scene  of 
intellectual  fence  that  followed,  during  which  they  cut 
and  thrust,  lunged  at  each  other  and  parried,  some  half- 
a-dozen  times,  is  one  of  those  that  root  themselves  forever 
in  the  memory.  Indeed,  their  very  words  have  clung  like 
burs  to  our  recollection. 

Mr.  Clay’s  opponent  was  a  somewhat  tall,  slender-built, 
ghostly-looking  man,  about  fifty  years  of  age,  erect  and 
earnest,  with  an  eye  like  a  hawk’s,  and  hair  sticking  up 
“like  quills  on  the  fretful  porcupine.”  His  voice  was 
harsh,  his  gestures  stiff  and  like  the  motions  of  a  pump- 
handle.  There  was  no  ease,  flexibility,  grace,  or  charm,  in 
his  manner;  yet  there  was  something  in  his  physiognomy 
and  bearing,  —  his  brilliant,  spectral  eyes,  his  colorless 
.cheek,  blanched  with  thought,  and  his  compressed  lips, — 
that  riveted  your  attention  as  with  hooks  of  steel.  As 
his  words  struggled  for  a  moment  in  his  throat,  and  then 


POLITICAL  ORATORS  —  CALHOUN. 


313 


rushed  out  with  tumultuous  rapidity  and  vehemence,  you 
were  impressed  with  his  apparent  frankness,  earnestness, 
and  sincerity.  As  you  listened  to  his  plausible  statements, 
it  seemed  incredible  that  this  could  be  the  great  polit¬ 
ical  sophist  of  America, —  the  hair-splitting  logician  and 
arch-nullifier,  John  C.  Calhoun.  Yet  he,  you  were  told, 
it  was;  and,  as  you  scanned  his  features,  you  thought  of 
Milton’s  lines  on  the  hero  of  Paradise  Lost: 

“  His  face 

Deep  scars  of  thunder  had  entrenched;  and  Care 
Sat  on  his  faded  cheek;  but  under  brows 
Of  dauntless  courage.” 

Calhoun’s  style  of  speaking  was  generally  colloquial. 
He  talked  like  a  merchant  to  his  clerks,  and  used  short 
Saxon  words  and  proverbial  phrases.  Clay  had  just 
taunted  him  with  a  rumor  that  he  had  left  the  Opposi¬ 
tion  ranks  and  struck  hands  with  the  Administration. 
He  (Mr.  Clay)  “  would  like  to  know  what  compromises 
have  been  made  between  the  honorable  Senator  from 
South  Carolina  and  the  ‘  Kinderhook  fox’”  (meaning  Pres¬ 
ident  Van  Buren).  Calhoun’s  reply, —  his  defiant  look, 
his  tones, —  are  as  vivid  to  us  as  if  we  had  seen  and 
heard  him  yesterday.  “No  man,”  he  began,  “ought  to  be 
more  tender  on  the  subject  of  compromises  than  the  hon¬ 
orable  Senator  from  Kentucky.”  Then,  alluding  to  the 
compromise  effected  by  Clay  in  the  Nullification  crisis 
of  1830,  he  added:  “The  Senator  from  Kentucky  was 
flat  on  his  hack.  I  repeat  it,  sir;  the  Senator  was  flat 
on  his  hack ,  and  couldn’t  move.  I  wrote  home  to  my 
friends  in  South  Carolina  half-a-dozen  letters,  saying  that 
the  honorable  Senator  from  Kentucky  was  flat  on  his 
back,  and  couldn’t  move.  I  was  his  master  on  that  occa¬ 
sion.  I  repeat  it,  sir;  I  was  his  master  on  that  occasion. 
14  - 


314 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


He  went  to  my  school.  He  learned  of  me."  Never  shall 
we  forget  the  consummate  grace  of  manner, —  the  thrill¬ 
ing  tones, —  the  electric  effect  of  Clay’s  rejoinder.  The  two 
antagonists  sat  nearly  at  the  extreme  ends  of  the  semi¬ 
circular  rows  of  seats, —  Calhoun  sitting  in  the  front  row, 
on  the  President’s  right;  Clay  in  the  rear  row,  on  his  left. 
As  we  gazed  on  these  giant  and  veteran  foes, —  both 
steeped  to  the  eye  in  fight,  cunning  of  fence,  masters  of 
their  weapons,  and  merciless  in  their  use,  we  thought  of 
the  lines  of  Milton: 

“  This  clay  will  pour  down. 

If  I  conjecture  aught,  no  drizzling  shower, 

But  rattling  storms  of  arrows  barbed  with  lire.” 

“  The  honorable  senator  from  South  Carolina,”  said 
Clay,  “  says  that  I  was  flat  on  my  back,  and  that  he  wrote 
home  to  his  friends  in  South  Carolina  half-a-dozen  letters 
stating  that  I  was  flat  on  my  back,  and  couldn’t  move. 
Admirable  evidence  this  in  a  court  of  law!  First  make 
an  assertion,  then  quote  your  own  letters  to  prove  it!  But 
the  honorable  senator  says  that  he  was  my  master  on  that 
occasion !  ”  As  he  said  this,  the  speaker  advanced  down 
the  aisle  directly  in  front  of  Calhoun,  and  pointing  to  him 
with  his  quivering  finger,  said  in  tones  and  with  looks  in 
which  were  concentrated  the  utmost  scorn  and  defiance, — 
“ He  my  master!  He  my  master!”  he  continued  in  louder 
tones,  with  his  finger  still  pointed,  and  retreating  back¬ 
ward,  while  his  air  and  manner  indicated  the  intensest 
abhorrence.  “HE  my  master!”  he  a  third  time  cried, 
raising  his  voice  to  a  still  higher  key,  while  he  retreated 
backward  to  the  very  lobby;  then,  suddenly  changing  his 
voice  from  a  trumpet  peal  to  almost  a  whisper,  which  yet 
was  distinctly  audible  in  every  nook  and  corner  of  the 


POLITICAL  ORATORS  —  CLAY. 


315 


Senate  chamber,  he  added, — “  Sir,  I  would  not  own  him  for 
my  slave  !  ”  For  an  instant,  there  was  a  hush  of  breath¬ 
less  silence;  then  followed  a  tempest  of  applause,  which 
for  a  while  checked  all  further  debate,  and  came  near 
causing  an  expulsion  of  the  spectators  from  the  galle¬ 
ries.  The  Kentucky  Senator  then  proceeded:  “The  Sen¬ 
ator  from  South  Carolina  further  declares  that  I  was  not 
only  flat  on  my  back,  but  that  another  Senator  (Mr.  Web¬ 
ster)  and  the  President  had  robbed  me  of  my  strength! 
Why,  sir,  I  gloried  in  my  strength.  Flat  on  my  back  as 
the  Senator  says  I  was,  he  was  indebted  to  me  for  that 
measure  which  relieved  him  of  the  difficulties  ”  (Jackson’s 
threats  to  arrest  and  hang  him)  “  by  which  he  was  sur¬ 
rounded.  Flat  as  I  was,  I  was  able  to  carry  that  Com¬ 
promise  through  the  Senate  in  opposition  to  the  gentle¬ 
man  ”  (Mr.  Webster)  “  who,  the  gentleman  from  South 
Carolina  said,  had  supplanted  me,  and  against  his  opposi¬ 
tion.  ”  In  his  closing  remarks  Calhoun  taunted  his  opponent 
with  his  failure  to  obtain  the  Presidential  nomination  at 
the  recent  convention  at  Harrisburg  (1839),  to  which  the 
latter  replied  as  follows:  “As  for  me,  Mr.  President,  my 
sands  are  nearly  run,  physically,  and,  if  you  please,  polit¬ 
ically  also;  but  I  shall  soon  retire  from  the  arena  of  public 
strife,  and  when  I  do  so  withdraw  myself,  it  will  be  with 
the  delightful  consciousness  of  having  served  the  best  in¬ 
terests  of  my  country,  a  consciousness  of  which  the  hon¬ 
orable  Senator  from  South  Carolina  (pointing  and  shak¬ 
ing  his  finger  at  Calhoun)  “  with  all  his  presumptuousness 
will  never  be  able  to  deprive  me.” 

In  the  entire  roll  of  distinguished  orators,  British  and 
American,  there  is  hardly  one  whose  printed  speeches  give 
so  inadequate  an  idea  of  his  powers  aSm)  those  of  Henry 


316 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


Clay.  His  eloquence  was  generally  of  a  warm  and  popu¬ 
lar  rather  than  of  a  strictly  argumentative  cast,  and 
abound  in  just  those  excellences  which  lose  their  interest 
when  divorced  from  the  orator’s  manner  and  from  the 
occasion  that  produced  them,  and  in  those  faults  that  es¬ 
cape  censure,  only  when  it  can  be  pleaded  for  them  that 
they  are  the  inevitable  overflow  of  a  mind  too  vividly  at 
work  to  restrain  the  abundance  of  its  current.  It  was 
the  opinion  of  William  Wirt  that  no  orator  could  write 
out  a  faithful  report  of  a  speech  which  he  had  pronounced, 
except  immediately  after  its  delivery.  It  must  be  done, 
he  said,  while  the  mind  is  yet  tossing  with  the  storm,  and 
before  the  waves  have  lost  either  their  direction  or  their 
magnitude.  But  how  can  the  storm  and  tempest  of  elo¬ 
quence,  the  waves  of  passion,  the  lightning  of  indignation, 
be  conveyed  on  paper?  Words  may  be  written  or  printed; 
but  who  can  print  the  air  and  manner  that  gave  weight 
to  a  commonplace  observation,  and  effect  to  a  tawdry  fig¬ 
ure?  Who  can  undertake  to  represent  in  written  forms 
of  language,  the  flashing  eye,  the  quivering  lip,  the  ma¬ 
jestic  bearing,  the  graceful  gesture,  the  ever-changing  and 
impassioned  tones  that  thrill  with  an  almost  unearthly 
power  to  the  inmost  recesses  of  the  soul?  These  are  the 
life  and  spirit  of  all  eloquence;  and  to  judge  of  a  speech 
which  charmed  all  who  heard  it,  by  reading  it  in  print 
after  the  charmer’s  voice  is  hushed,  and  at  a  different 
time,  place,  and  occasion  from  those  of  its  delivery,  is  as 
absurd  as  to  judge  of  a  beauty  by  looking  at  her  skele¬ 
ton,  or  to  express  an  opinion  of  a  song  without  hearing 
the  tune  to  which  it  owed  nearly  all  its  charm. 

Few  orators  of  equal  fame  have  begun  their  career  with 
so  slender  an  intellectual  equipment  as  Henry  Clay.  His 


POLITICAL  ORATORS  —  CLAY. 


317 


0 

father  having  died  when  he  was  but  four  years  old,  his 
mother,  who  was  left  in  poverty  with  seven  children,  could 
do  but  little  for  his  education.  For  three  years  he  was 
placed  under  the  charge  of  one  Peter  Deacon,  an  English¬ 
man,  who  taught  in  a  log  school-house  which  had  no  floor 
but  the  earth,  and  which  was  lighted  by  the  open  door 
only.  Here  he  was  instructed  in  reading,  writing,  and 
arithmetic,  after  which  he  was  employed  in  a  store  at 
Richmond,  Virginia,  and  thence  transferred  to  a  desk 
clerkship  in  the  office  of  the  high  court  of  chancery  in 
that  State.  Shortly  after  he  was  employed  as  an  amanuen¬ 
sis  by  Chancellor  Wythe,  who,  perceiving  his  talents  and 
his  fondness  for  books,  urged  him  to  study  law,  gave  him 
the  use  of  his  library  and  directed  his  reading.  So  rapidly 
did  he  devour  and  assimilate  his  mental  food,  that  it  is 
said  the  Chancellor  had  only  to  name  a  book,  and  the  next 
time  he  met  his  pupil  he  found  him  not  only  master  of 
its  contents,  but  “  deeply  versed  in  them,  and  extending 
his  thoughts  far  beyond  his  instructors.  The  youth  did 
not  invoke  the  keepers  of  knowledge  to  let  him  into  their 
secrets,  but  marched  straight  into  their  wide  domains,  as 
if  to  the  possession  of  his  native  rights.”  Many  years 
after,  when  he  had  acquired  a  national  fame,  a  plain  old 
country  gentleman  gave  the  following  toast  at  a  Fourth- 
of-July  dinner:  “Henry  Clay, —  He  and  I  were  born 
close  to  the  Slashes  of  old  Hanover.  He  worked  bare¬ 
footed,  and  so  did  I;  he  went  to  mill,  and  so  did  I;  he 
was  good  to  his  mamma,  and  so  was  I.  I  know  him 
like  a  book,  and  love  him  like  a  brother.” 

In  1797,  at  the  age  of  twenty,  Clay  removed  from 
Virginia  to  Lexington,  Kentucky,  where  he  began  the 
practice  of  law.  Though  penniless  at  first,  he  soon  re- 


318 


ORATORY  ANI)  ORATORS. 


ceived  his  first  fifteen  shillings  fee,  and  then,  to  use  his 
own  words,  “  immediately  rushed  into  a  successful  and 
lucrative  practice.”  He  was  especially  successful  in  crim¬ 
inal  cases,  often  winning  verdicts  from  juries  by  the 
magnetism  of  his  oratory,  in  defiance  of  both  law  and 
evidence.  Before  his  admission  to  the  Kentucky  bar,  he 
joined  a  debating  club,  at  a  meeting  of  which,  in  his  first 
attempt  to  speak,  he  broke  down.  Beginning  his  speech 
with  “Gentlemen  of  the1  Jury,”  he  was  so  confused  by 
the  perception  of  his  mistake,  that  he  could  not  go  on. 
Encouraged  by  the  members  of  the  club,  he  began  again 
with  the  same  words;  but,  upon  a  third  trial,  he  was 
more  successful,  and,  gaining  confidence  as  he  proceeded, 
he  burst  the  trammels  of  his  youthful  diffidence,  and 
clothing  his  thoughts  in  appropriate  language,  was  loudly 
and  warmly  cheered.  With  the  exception  of  a  single 
occasion,  when  his  memory  proved  treacherous,  a  quarter 
of  a  century  later,  his  thunder  was  never  again  “checked 
in  mid  volley,”  for  lack  of  thoughts  or  language.  On 
that  occasion,  as  he  was  addressing  the  legislature  of  Vir¬ 
ginia,  he  began  to  quote  the  well-known  lines  of  Scott, — 
“  Lives  there  a  man,”  etc.,  and  suddenly  stopped,  unable  to 
recall  the  rest.  Closing  his  eyes,  and  pressing  his  forehead 
with  the  palm  of  his  hand,  to  aid  his  recollection,  he  was 
fortunately  supposed  by  the  audience  to  be  overcome  by  the 
power  and  intensity  of  his  feelings.  In  a  few  moments  the 
lines  came  to  his  lips,  and  as  he  pronounced  them  in 
thrilling  tones, — 

“Lives  there  a  man  with  soul  so  dead, 

Who  never  to  himself  hath  said, 

This  is  my  own,  my  native  land?” — 

a  profound  sensation  pervaded  the  assembly,  which  mani¬ 
fested  itself,  in  many  cases,  by  tears. 


POLITICAL  ORATORS  —  CLAY. 


319 


In  person,  Clay  was  tall  and  commanding,  being  six 
feet  and  one  inch  in  stature,  and  was  noted  for  the 
erect  appearance  he  presented,  whether  standing,  walking, 
or  talking.  The  most  striking  features  of  his  counte¬ 
nance  were  a  high  forehead,  a  prominent  nose,  an  un¬ 
commonly  large  mouth,  and  blue  eyes,  which,  though  not 
particularly  expressive  when  in  repose,  had  an  electrical 
appearance  when  kindled.  His  voice,  as  we  have  already 
said,  was  one  of  extraordinary  compass,  melody,  and  pow¬ 
er.  From  the  “  deep  and  dreadful  sub-bass  of  the  organ  ” 
to  the  most  aerial  warblings  of  its  highest  key,  hardly  a 
pipe  or  a  stop  was  wanting.  Like  all  magical  voices,  it 
had  the  faculty  of  imparting  to  the  most  familiar  and 
commonplace  expressions  an  inexpressible  fascination;  and 
in  listening  to  its  melting  tones  an  enthusiastic  listener 
might  say: 

“  Thy  sweet  words  drop  upon  the  ear  as  soft 
As  rose  leaves  on  a  well;  and  I  could  listen 
As  though  the  immortal  melody  of  heaven 
Were  wrought  into  one  word,— that  word  a  whisper, 

That  whisper  all  I  want  from  all  I  love.” 

Probably  no  orator  ever  lived  who,  when  speaking  on  a 
great  occasion,  was  more  completely  absorbed  in  his 
theme.  “  I  do  not  know  how  it  is  with  others,”  he  once 
said,  “  but,  on  such  occasions,  I  seem  to  be  unconscious 
of  the  external  world.  Wholly  engrossed  by  the  subject 
before  me,  I  lose  all  sense  of  personal  identity,  of  time, 
or  of  surrounding  objects.”  It  is  no  wonder  that  when  an 
orator  is  thus  abandoned, — when  he  becomes  all  feeling, 
from  the  core  of  his  heart  to  the  surface  of  his  skin,  and 
from  the  crown  of  his  head  to  the  sole  of  his  foot,  gushing 
through  every  pore  and  expressed  through  every  organ, — 
that  his  sway  over  his  hearers  should  be  complete. 


320 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


We  have  no  space  for  extracts  from  any  of  Glav’s 
great  speeches,  such  as  those  on  South  American  Inde¬ 
pendence,  Internal  Improvement,  the  Sub-Treasury  Scheme, 
etc.  etc.;  and  will,  therefore,  conclude  this  sketch  with  a 
passage  from  an  address  made  to  the  citizens  of  Lexing¬ 
ton,  Ky.,  in  1843,  after  his  first  retirement  from  Congress. 
He  was  then  in  his  sixty-sixth  year,  and,  in  defending 
himself  from  some  attacks  made  upon  his  character,  said: 
“Fellow  citizens:  I  now  am  an  old  man —  quite  an  old 
man.”  Here  he  bent  himself  downward.  “  But  yet  it 
will  be  found  I  am  not  too  old  to  vindicate  my  princi¬ 
ples,  to  stand  by  my  friends,  or  to  defend  myself,” —  rais¬ 
ing  his  voice  louder  and  louder,  at  each  successive  mem¬ 
ber  of  the  sentence,  and  elevating  his  person  in  a  most 
impressive  manner.  He  then  proceeded  thus:  “It  so 
happens  that  I  have  again  located  myself  in  the  practice 
of  my  profession,  in  an  office  within  a  few  rods  of  the 
one  which  I  occupied,  when,  more  than  forty  years  ago,  I 
first  came  among  you,  an  orphan  and  a  stranger,  and 
your  fathers  took  me  by  the  hand,  and  made  me  what  I 
am.  I  feel  like  an  old  stag,  which  has  been  long  coursed 
by  the  hunters  and  the  hounds,  through  brakes  and  bri¬ 
ers,  and  o’er  distant  plains,  and  has,  at  last  returned  him¬ 
self  to  his  ancient  lair,  to  lay  him  down  and  die.  And 
yet  the  vile  curs  of  party  are  barking  at  my  heels,  and 
the  blood-hounds  of  personal  malignity  are  aiming  at  my 
throat.  I  scorn  and  defy  them-,  as  I  ever  did."  As  he 
uttered  these  last  words,  he  raised  himself,  says  an  eye¬ 
witness,  to  his  most  erect  posture,  and  lifted  up  his  hands 
and  arms  above  his  head,  till  his  tall  person  seemed  to 
have  nearly  doubled  its  height.  The  effect  w~as  over¬ 
whelming,  beyond  all  power  of  description. 


POLITICAL  ORATORS  —  WEBSTER. 


323 


Many  great  men  “shame  their  worshipers”  on  a  near 
approach.  Their  dwarfish  bodies  give  the  lie  to  their 
intellectual  pretensions;  their  souls  are  physiognomically 
slandered  by  their  bodies.  But  whoever  looked  upon 
Daniel  Webster,  with  his  massive,  Herculean  frame,  his 
beetling  brows,  deep-set,  searching  black  eyes,  and  imperial 
port,  felt  instantaneously  that  a  Titan  stood  before  him. 
In  his  voice,  in  his  step,  and  in  his  bearing,  there  was  a 
grandeur  that  took  the  imagination  by  storm.  “  Since 
Charlemagne,”  said  Theodore  Parker,  “  I  think  there  has 
not  been  such  a  grand  figure  in  all  Christendom.”  When 
Thorwaldsen,  the  Danish  sculptor,  saw  the  cast  of  his 
bust  in  Powers’s  studio  at  Rome,  he  mistook  it  for  a  head 
of  Jupiter.  Sydney  Smith  was  astonished  at  this  speci¬ 
men  of  “American  physical  degeneracy.”  Carlyle,  speak¬ 
ing  of  his  large,  dark,  and  cavernous  eyes,  overhung  by 
shaggy  brows,  said  that,  when  in  repose,  they  were  “like 

blast  furnaces  blown  •out.”  Nature  had  set  her  seal  of 

« 

greatness  visibly  upon  him,  and  his  achievements  in  the 
Senate  and  the  forum,  in  the  closet  and  before  masses  of 
his  fellow-citizens,  did  not  belie  the  promise  of  his  god¬ 
like  physiognomy.  Doubtless  Calhoun  had  a  more  acute 
and  metaphysical  mind,  and  could  divide  a  line  more 
nicely  “ ’twixt  south  and  southwest  side”;  Clay  had  a 
more  electric  or  magnetic  nature,  and  showed  far  keener 
sagacity  in  divining  public  sentiment,  and  in  sweeping 
the  strings  of  popular  feeling;  but  in  sheer  intellectual 
might, —  in  that  comprehensiveness  of  vision  which  sees 
all  the  sides  of  a  subject  and  judges  it  in  all  its  relations, 
—  in  that  largeness  and  weight  of  utterance  which  give 
the  greatest  impressiveness  to  everything  that  one  says, 
and  in  hard  logic,  which  links  conclusion  to  conclusion 


324 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


like  a  chain  of  iron, —  neither  Clay,  nor  Calhoun,  nor  any 
other  American,  was  ever  equal  to  Webster.  He  was  em¬ 
phatically  the  orator  of  the  understanding,  and  for  this 
reason,  because  he  spoke  to  the  head  rather  than  to  the 
heart, —  because  his  qualities  were  those  imperial  ones  that 
compel  admiration,  rather  than  win  love, —  he  was  never 
a  favorite  of  the  populace.  The  young  men  of  the  coun¬ 
try  worshiped  him,  and  the  thinking  men  looked  up  to 
him  with  admiration,  but  generally  he  was  the  pride  of 
the  people  rather  than  their  idol. 

It  is  a  notable  fact  that  Webster,  like  Bacon,  was  a 
sickly  child,  and  but  for  that  reason  might  never  have 
been  sent  to  college.  It  is  a  curious  fact  also,  that,  when 
at  the  academy  in  Exeter,  he  was  afflicted  with  such  an 
extreme  shyness  that  he  took  no  part  in  the  declama¬ 
tions.  Many  pieces  were  committed  to  memory  and  re¬ 
hearsed  again  and  again  by  him  in  his  room;  but  when 
his  name  was  called  in  the  school-room,  and  all  eyes 
were  fastened  upon  him,  he  was  glued  to  his  seat.  Upon 
entering  college,  however,  he  became  at  once  an  easy  and 
impressive  speaker  and  debater,  and  when  he  took  the 
floor  for  the  first  time  in  Congress  he  sprang  by  one 
bound  to  the  very  front  rank  of  American  parliamentary 
debaters.  His  speech  was  so  weighty,  luminous,  and  con¬ 
vincing,  that  Chief  Justice  Marshall  prophesied  his  future 
eminence.  With  his  advent  at  Washington,  a  new  school 
of  oratory, —  now  known  throughout  the  country  as  “the 
Websterian,” — was  formed,  for  even  thus  early  his  ora¬ 
tory  had  mainly  all  the  qualities  which  characterized  it 
in  his  riper  years.  In  its  Demosthenian  simplicity  and 
strength,  it  was  alike  opposed  to  the  flowery  sentimental¬ 
ism  of  Wirt  and  to  the  frigid  vehemence  and  pedantic 


POLITICAL  ORATORS  —  WEBSTER. 


325 


classicality  of  Pinkney.  His  style  was  Doric,  not  Corin¬ 
thian,  reminding  one  by  its  massive  strength  of  the  shafts 
hewn  from  the  granite  hills  of  his  native  state.  He  was 
at  this  time,  as  he  continued  to  be  throughout  his  whole 
subsequent  life,  the  personification  of  the  understanding, 
as  distinguished  from  the  intuitive  reason  and  the  crea- 
tive  imagination.  The  basis  of  his  intellect  was  an  un¬ 
common  common  sense.  He  did  not  dart  to  his  conclu¬ 
sions  with  the  swift  discernment  of  the  eagle-eyed  Clay, 
but  won  them  by  sheer  force  of  thinking.  He  concen¬ 
trated  all  his  mental  faculties  upon  a  confused  and  per¬ 
plexing  mass  of  facts,  and  it  was  at  once  resolved  and 
luminous,  as  under  the  powerful  vision  of  the  telescope 
the  milky  way  breaks  into  stars.  He  had  no  sophisms 
or  verbal  dexterities,  no  intellectual  juggleries.  His  pow¬ 
er  before  the  jury,  court,  senate,  and  audience,  lay  not 
in  his  intellectual  subtlety,  or  displays  of  feeling  and  im¬ 
agination,  but  in  his  appeals  to  facts.  Mr.  Parker,  in 
his  “  Golden  Age  of  American  Oratory,”  tells  of  a  case 
about  two  car-wheels,  in  which,  by  a  sentence  and  a 
look,  Webster  crushed  one  of  Choate’s  subtlest  and  most 
fine-spun  arguments  to  atoms.  The  wheels,  which  to 
common  eyes  looked  as  if  made  from  the  same  model, 
Choate  endeavored  to  show,  by  a  train  of  hair-splitting 
reasoning  and  by  a  profound  discourse  on  “  the  fixation 
of  points,”  had  hardly  a  shadow  of  essential  resemblance. 
“  But,”  said.  Webster,  and  his  great  eyes  opened  wide  and 
black,  as  he  stared  at  the  big  twin  wheels  before  him, 
“gentlemen  of  the  jury,  there  they  are, —  look  at  ’em!” 
and  as  he  thundered  out  these  words,  in  tones  of  vast 
volume,  the  distorted  wheels  shrunk  into  their  original 
similarity,  and  the  cunning  argument  on  “  the  fixation  of 


326 


ORATORY  4ivTD  ORATORS. 


points"  died  a  natural  death.  Webster  did  not  excel  in 
abstract  reasoning, —  at  least,  it  was  not  his  forte,  as  it 
was  Calhoun's;  it  was  when,  Antaeus-like,  he  planted  his 
\feet  upon  the  earth,  that  you  felt  his  power.  His  grasp 
of  facts,  and  skill  in  arranging  them,  were  alike  prodi¬ 
gious.  His  understanding  swept  over  the  whole  extent 
of  a  subject,  classified  and  systematized  its  tangled  de¬ 
tails,  discerned  its  laws,  and  made  it  so  luminous,  that 
the  simplest  intellect  could  apprehend  it.  He  illuminated 
dark  themes,  obscured  by  sophistry,  with  such  a  blaze  of 
light  that  the  hearer,  finding  them  so  transparent,  un¬ 
derrated  the  difficulty  overcome.  Like  Lord  Mansfield,  he 
was  distinguished  for  his  skill  in  statement.  His  narra¬ 
tive  of  the  facts  in  a  case  was  itself  a  demonstration. 

(Giant-like  as  was  his  intellect,  it  was  naturally  slug¬ 
gish  and  heavy,  and  required,  as  we  have  said,  the  stimulus 
of  a  great  occasion  or  a  great  antagonist  to  call  forth  its 
slumbering  power.  He  was  like  a  mighty  line-of-battle 
ship,  which  is  not  easily  set  in  motion,  but  whose  guns, 
when  she  is  once  fairly  engaged,  crush  everything  opposed 
to  her.  On  a  small  subject,  he  was  dull.  If  required  to 
speak  at  a  public  dinner,  or  on  a  parade  day,  he  floundered 
“  like  a  whale  in  a  frog-pond.”  As  Grattan  said  of  Flood, 
“  put  a  distaff  in  his  hand,  and,  like  Hercules,  he  makes 
sad  work  of  it;  but  give  him  a  thunderbolt,  and  he  has 
the  arm  of  a  Jove."  We  heard  him  speak  at  the  Harvard 
Centennial  Celebration  in  1838,  at  which  two  thousand 
alumni  were  gathered,  and  we  are  sure  that  he  wearied 
all  who  listened  to  him.  Legare,  Bancroft,  Story,  all  sur¬ 
passed  him.  It  was  not  merely  because  he  lacked  the 
necessary  stimulus  that  he  failed  on  these  occasions,  but 
because  he  had  too  much  intellectual  integrity  for  this  kind 


POLITICAL  ORATORS —  WEBSTER.  327 

of  sham  oratory;  lie  had  no  taste  for  exalting  molehills 
into  mountains,  or  killing  humming-birds  with  PaixhanS. 
In  his  attempts  at  humor  he  was  sometimes  successful,  but 
oftener  reminded  one  of  an  elephant  gambolling,  or,  “  to 
make"  men  “sport,  wreathing  his  lithe  proboscis.”  Per¬ 
haps  his  best  effort  in  this  line  was  in  a  speech  at 
Rochester,  New  York: 

“  Men  of  Rochester,  I  am  glad  to  see  you,  and  I  am  glad  to  see  your  noble 
city.  Gentlemen,  I  saw  your  falls,  which  I  am  told  are  one  hundred  and  fifty 
feet  high.  That  is  a  very  interesting  fact.  Gentlemen,  Rome  had  her  Caesar, 
her  Scipio,  her  Brutus;  but  Rome,  in  her  proudest  days,  never  had  a  waterfall 
one  hundred  and  fifty  feet,  high !  Gentlemen,  Greece  had  her  Pericles,  her  De¬ 
mosthenes,  and  her  Socrates;  but  Greece,  in  her  palmiest  days,  never  had  a 
waterfall  one  hundred  and  fifty  feet  high !  Men  of  Rochester,  go  on.  No  people 
ever  lost  their  liberties,  who  had  a  waterfall  one  hundred  and  fifty  feet  high  !  ” 

One  of  his  best  witticisms  was  a  reply  made  to  his 
friend,  Mrs.  Seaton,  at  Washington,  who  said  to  him  one 
day,  when  he  came  home  late  from  the  Cabinet,  that  he 
looked  fatigued  and  worried.  He  had  been  revising  Presi- 
dent  Harrison’s  inaugural,  which  was  brimful  of  pedantic 
allusions  to  Roman  history,  and  especially  to  the  Roman 
proconsuls,  which  the  old  hero,  in  spite  of  Webster’s  pro¬ 
test,  had  been  obstinately  bent  on  retaining.  “  I  really 
hope,”  said  Mrs.  Seaton,  “that  nothing  has  happened.” 
“You  would  think  something  had  happened,”  Webster 
replied,  “  if  you  knew  what  I  have  done.  I  have  killed 
seventeen  Roman  proconsuls  as  dead  as  smelts,  every  one 
of  them.”  tin  debate  Webster  was  quick  at  retort.  If  it 
was  a  personal  insult  that  roused  the  slumbering  lion,  his 
roar  of  rage  was  appalling,  and  the  spring  and  the  death¬ 
blow  that  followed,  were  like  lightning  in  their  suddenness. 
But  it  was  on  momentous  occasions,  when  great  public 
interests  were  at  stake,  that  the  full  might  of  his  intellect 
was  visible.  When  feebler  men,  awed  by  the  darkness  of 


328 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


the  political  sky,  fled  for  shelter  from  the  tempest,  he 

rushed  forth  exultingly  to  the  elemental  war,  with  all  his 

faculties  stimulated  to  their  utmost.  When  the  thunders 
of  Nullification  muttered  in  the  distance,  he  coolly  watched 
the  coming  storm;  and  when  they  burst,  he  bared  his  head 
to  the  bolts,  like  the  mammoth  of  tradition,  shaking  them 
off  as  they  fell.  No  man  ever  spoke,  in  whose  utterances, 
even  the  simplest,  the  power  of  a  great  personality  was 
more  deeply  felt.  It  has  been  justly  said  that  “the  ap¬ 
pearance  of  his  blue  coat  with  its  gilt  buttons,  and  his 

buff  vest,  was  always  as  inspiring  to  his  friends,  and  as 
dispiriting  to  his  enemies,  as  the  gray  overcoat  and  cocked 
hat  of  Napoleon.  Wellington  estimated  the  presence  of 
Napoleon  on  the  battle-field  as  equivalent  to  a  reinforce- 
ment  of  fifty  thousand  troops  (on  his  side),  and  the  moral 
grandeur  and  influence  of  Webster  were  similar.” 

No  triumph  that  he  ever  won  seemed  to  tax  all  his 
powers  or  to  drain  the  secret  fountains  of  his  strength. 
Behind  the  strongest  arguments  he  put  forward,  there 
was  always  a  vast  reserved  force.  The  heavy  guns  thun¬ 
dered  forth,  sending  shot  and  shell  directly  to  the  mark, 
but  behind  them  you  saw  the  massed  supports.  It  was 
the  advanced  guard  only  that  was  in  action;  the  Imperial 
Guard  was  still  kept  back.  It  has  been  said  of  Edward 
Everett  that  he  “  seemed  to  spend  himself  upon  his  pe¬ 
riods,  while  Webster  stood  behind  his  periods.”  You  felt 
as  you  listened  to  him  that  the  man  was  greater  than 
his  words,  superior  to  his  work.  The  very  fact  that  his 
temperament  was  torpid  and  sluggish,  making  him  ordi¬ 
narily  dall  and  unimpassioned,  rendered  his  vehemence 

/ 

the  more  impressive.  If  it  took  long  to  light  up  the 
fires  in  his  vast  intellectual  furnaces,  they  burned  with 


POLITICAL  ORATORS  —  WEBSTER. 


329 


proportional  fury,  and  consumed  the  hardest  substances 
in  their  blaze. 

Webster  rarely  attempted  pathos,  but  when  he  did  so, 
never  failed  to  unseal  the  fountains  of  feeling.  His 
celebrated  apostrophe  to  Massachusetts,  in  the  speech  of 
1830,  made  hoary  men  weep  like  children;  and  when 
he  closed  his  argument  in  the  Dartmouth  College  case, 
so  overpowering  was  the  pathos  that  even  the  grave 
judges  of  the  Supreme  Court  could  not  check  their  tears. 
There  was  a  vein  of  sadness  in  his  nature,  which  tinges 
nearly  all  his  utterances,  and  is  visible,  we  think,  in  his 
grave,  severe,  and  somewhat  solemn  face,  furrowed  and 
lined  “  like  the  side  of  a  hill  where  the  torrent  hath 
been.”  The  countenance  is  that  of  a  man  on  whom 
“the  burden  of  the  unintelligible  world”  has  weighed 
more  heavily  than  on  ordinary  men.  Yet  he  loved  to 
unbend,  at  times,  in  the  presence  of  his  friends.  After 
his  great  Plymouth  and  Adams  and  Jefferson  orations,  he 
was  “  as  playful  as  a  kitten,”  says  Mr.  Ticknor-.  Web¬ 
ster  jvas_  not  a  learned  man.  He  read  much,  not  many 
books.  A  few  authors,  Shakspeare,  Milton,  and  Burke, 
he  seems  to  have  read  till  their  ideas  were  held  in  his 
own  mind  in  constant  solution.  His  great  speeches,  es¬ 
pecially  the  reply  to  Hayne,  are  adorned  with  felicitous 
quotations  and  applications  from  the  two  poets,  and  the 
germs  of  some  of  his  finest  thoughts  and  metaphors  may 
be  found  in  Burke.  There  are  great  generals  who  can 
handle  a  force  of  ten  thousand  men  so  as  to  make  them 
more  effective  than  fifty  thousand  directed  by  other  chiefs; 
and  so  it  was  with  the  facts  and  ideas  marshalled  and 
hurled  against  an  adversary  by  Webster.  In  jury  trials 

he  culled  and  grouped  the  essential  testimony  of  his  wit- 
14* 


330 


ORATORY  AXD  ORATORS. 


nesses,  put  their  words  into  a  solid  mass,  and  then 
“  hurled  it  home  in  comparatively  few  sentences, —  few, 
but  thunderbolts." 

Webster  was  not  a  rhetorician  like  Everett  and  Wirt. 
Though  nice  in  his  choice  of  words,  he  was  not,  like  Pink¬ 
ney  and  Choate,  constantly  racking  dictionaries  to  obtain 
an  affluence  of  synonyms.  Though  possessing  an  ample 
command  of  expression,  he  rarely  wastes  a  word.  He 
once  criticised  Watts  for  saying  in  a  hymn  that  an  angel 
moved  “  with  most  amazing  speed.”  The  line,  he  said, 
conveyed  no  sense.  “  It  would  amaze  us,”  he  added,  “  to 
see  an  oyster  move  a  mile  a  day;  it  would  not  amaze  us 
to  see  a  greyhound  run  a  mile  a  minute.”  No  one  of 
our  great  orators  had  a  greater  horror  of  epithets  and 
adjectives,  or  more  heartily  despised  all  grandiloquence  or 
sesquipedalia  verba.  For  all  cant  and  rhetorical  trickery, 
—  for  all  “bunkum”  talk  and  windy  declamation  about 
“  the  shades  of  Hampden  and  Sidney  ”  and  “  the  eternal 
rights  of  man,” — for  cheap  enthusiasms  and  spread-eagles 
generally, —  he  had  a  supreme  scorn.  Few  orators  of  equal 
imagination  have  so  few  figures  of  speech.  There  are 
more  metaphors  in  ten  pages  of  Burke  than  in  all  of 
Webster’s  works.  In  discussing  a  subject  he  loses  no  time 
in  circumlocutions  or  digressions.  He  uses  no  scattering 
fowling-piece  that  sends  its  shot  around  the  object  to  be 
hit,  but  plants  his  rifle-ball  in  the  very  centre  of  the  tar¬ 
get.  Commonly  he  prepared  himself  with  conscientious 
care  for  his  speeches, —  not  by  writing  them  out,  bur  by 
thinking  over  and  over  what  he  had  to  say,  all  the  while 
mentally  facing  his  audience.  In  many  passages,  no  doubt, 
the  very  language  was  pre-chosen, — selected  with  the  nicest 
discrimination, —  especially  on  critical  occasions,  and  in  the 


POLITICAL  ORATORS  —  WEBSTER. 


331 


closing  paragraphs,  in  which  were  condensed  the  very  pith 
and  marrow  of  his  entire  argument.  It  is  not  easy  to 
believe  that  the  gorgeous  bursts  of  eloquence,  the  “  daz¬ 
zling  fence "  of  rhetoric,  the  exquisite  quotations  and 
allusions,  and  the  compact  arguments,  in  the  reply  to 
Hayne,  were  all  in  impromptu  language.  We  must  re¬ 
member,  however,  that,  in  preparing  his  speeches  for  the 
press,  he  corrected  them  with  merciless  severity,  and  some¬ 
times  used  the  file  till  it  weakened  instead  of  polishing. 
Starr  King  observes  that  the  reply  to  Hayne,  unlike  the 
“Oration  on  the  Crown,"  which  is  veined  with  the  fiercest 
invective,  is  free  from  taunts  and  sarcasms.  “  It  is  not 
only  crushing,  but  Christian.”  Certain  hearers  of  the 
speech,  however,  report  one  personal  thrust  which  never 
appeared  in  print.  “Sir,”  said  Webster,  in  tones  that 
shook  the  Senate  chamber,  “the  Senator  said  that  he 
should  carry  the  war  into  Africa, —  if  God  gave  him  the 
power.  But,  sir,”  said  Webster,  glowering  down  upon 
Hayne  with  a  look  of  ineffable  scorn,  “  God  has  not  given 
him  the  power.  I  put  it  to  the  gentleman,  God  has  not 
given  him  the  power  G  It  is  rarely,  however,  that  the  lan¬ 
guage  of  scorn  thus  falls  from  Webster’s  lips.  He  neither 
mocks  his  antagonist  like  Gawazzi,  nor  insults  him  like 
O’Connell,  but  appeals  directly  to  the  intellect  of  the 
hearer,  and  is  more  anxious  to  convince  than  to  excite. 

Webster  was  as  far  as  possible  from  being  an  orator 
of  the  Macaulay  school,  the  members  of  which  pickle  and 
preserve  their  sentences  for  use.  His  forte  was  in  argu¬ 
ment,  not  in  epigram;  and  he  certainly  would  never  have 
thought  of  writing  revised  editions  of  a  phrase,  like  Sheri¬ 
dan.  Even  when  he  had  conned  a  speech  most  carefully, 
he  was  more  than  once  lifted  out  of  his  grooves,  and 


332 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


borne  upon  the  heaving  ground  swell  of  his  passion  into 
extemporaneous  splendor.  An  able  English  critic,  who 
complains  that  Webster  is  not  uniformly  refined  in  his 
language,  admits  that  the  style  of  his  speeches  is  of  gran¬ 
ite  strength  and  texture,  and  therefore  is  not  of  the  fee¬ 
ble  order  which  depends  upon  the  collocation  of  an  epithet, 
—  that,  as  Erskine  said  of  Fox's  speeches,  “in  their  most 
imperfect  reliques  the  bones  of  a  giant  are  to  be  discov¬ 
ered.'’ 

Webster’s  manner  in  speaking  was  usually  calm,  quite 
the  opposite  of  Clay’s  or  Calhoun’s.  He  was  the  most  de¬ 
liberate  of  our  great  orators,  expressing  himself  in  meas¬ 
ured  sentences  with  great  economy  of  words.  His  voice 
was  deep-toned,  like  that  of  a  great  bell  or  organ,  yet 
was  musical,  and  well  adapted  to  his  sinewy  Anglo-Saxon 
words  and  weighty  thoughts.  On  great  occasions,  when 
the  whole  man  was  roused,  its  swell  and  roll,  we  are  told, 
struck  upon  the  ears  of  the  spell-bound  audience  in  deep 
and  melodious  cadence,  as  waves  upon  the  shore  of  the 
“  far-resounding  sea."  Except  in  moments  of  high  excite¬ 
ment,  he  had  little  action, —  an  occasional  gesture  with  the 
right  hand  being  all.  In  his  law-arguments,  he  was  still 
more  sparing  of  gestures;  his  keen,  deep-set  eye  glancing, 
his  speaking  countenance  and  distinct  utterance,  with  an 
occasional  emphatic  inclination  of  the  body,  being  the  only 
means  by  which  he  urged  home  his  arguments.  The  vast 
mass  of  the  man  did  much  to  make  his  words  impressive. 
“  He  carried  men’s  minds,  and  overwhelmingly  pressed  his 
thought  upon  them,  with  the  immense  current  of  his  phys¬ 
ical  energy.” 

Of  all  our  great  orators  Daniel  Webster  was  the  freest 
from  egotism,  while  at  the  same  time  he  manifested  a 


POLITICAL  ORATORS  —  WEBSTER. 


magnificent  self-reliance,  based  on  a  just  estimaf 
own  powers.  When  Hayne  made  his  fierce  assault  uj 
New  England,  it  was  feared  by  many,  even  of  Mr.  Web¬ 
ster’s  friends,  that  it  could  not  be  answered.  On  the 
evening  before  his  reply,  he  read  over  to  Edward  Everett 
some  of  the  points  which  he  intended  to  make,  in  so  dry, 
business-like  a  way  that  the  latter  expressed  a  fear  that 
he  was  not  aware  of  the  magnitude  of  the  occasion.  But 
it  was  speedily  evident  that  he  was  equal  to  the  exigency 
—  that  his  calmness  was  not  that  of  indifference,  but  the 
repose  of  conscious  power.  It  was  the  hush  that  precedes 
the  storm.  As  Mr.  Iredell,  of  North  Carolina,  said  of  his 
first  speech,  the  lion  had  been  started,  but  “  they  had  not 
yet  heard  his  roar  or  felt  his  claws.”  While  the  New 
Englanders  in  Washington  were  quaking  with  fear,  their 
champion,  never  more  playful  or  in  higher  spirits  than 
that  evening,  slept  that  night,  and  “  slept  soundly.”  “  So,” 
says  Everett,  in  one  of  his  happiest  passages,  “  the  great 
Conde  slept  on  the  eve  of  the  battle  of  Rocroi;  so  Alex¬ 
ander  the  Great  slept  on  the  eve  of  the  battle  of  Arbela; 

and  so  tliev  awoke  to  deeds  of  immortal  fame.  As  I  saw 
«/ 

him  in  the  evening  (if  I  may  borrow  an  illustration  from 
his  favorite  amusement),'*  he  was  as  unconcerned  and  free 
in  spirit  as  some  here  present  have  seen  him,  while  floating 
in  his  fishing-boat  along  a  hazy  shore,  gently  rocking  on 
the  tranquil  tide,  dropping  his  line  here  and  there  with 
the  varying  fortune  of  his  sport.  The  next  morning  he 
was  some  mighty  admiral,  dark  and  terrible;  casting  the 
long  shadow  of  his  frowning  tiers  far  over  the  sea,  that 
seemed  to  sink  beneath  him;  his  broad  pennant  streaming 
at  the  main,  the  stars  and  stripes  at  the  fore,  the  mizzen 
and  the  peak;  and  bearing  down  like  a  tempest  upon  his 


334 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


antagonist,  with  all  his  canvas  strained  to  the  wind,  and 
all  his  thunders  roaring  from  his  broadsides.”  A  defeat 
so  terrible  was  never,  except  once,  known  before.  It  was 
when  the  Archangel  drove  Satan  from  heaven,  and 

“With  the  sound 

Of  torrent  floods,  or  of  a  numerous  host, 

He  on  his  impious  foes  right  onward  drove. 

Gloomy  as  night.” 

It  seems  almost  incredible  that  this  greatest  and  most 
memorable  of  American  speeches,  lasting  six  hours,  dur¬ 
ing  which  every  key  in  the  entire  gamut  of  eloquence 
was  sounded, —  abounding  in  argument,  logic,  wit,  irony, 
[poetry,  pathos,  and  passion, —  almost  every  page  of  which 
has  been  declaimed  to  death  in  colleges  and  academies, — 
should  have  been  extempore.  Into  half  a  sheet  of  letter 
paper,  'of  which  the  brief  consisted,  were  condensed  all 
the  bolts  of  this  marvellous  reply.  There  is  no  doubt 
that  the  orator  had,  in  one  sense,  been  long  prepared  for 
the  assault  which  he  repelled  with  such  crushing  energy. 
He  had  long  ago  weighed  and  answered  in  his  own  mind 
the  arguments  for  Nullification,  and  like  the  war-horse  of 
the  Scriptures,  who  “  paweth  in  the  valley,  and  rejoiceth 
in  his  strength,”  he  had  awaited  the  onset  of  the  enemy 
with  a  stern  and  impatient  joy.  Indeed,  he  himself  has 
left  on  record  his  feelings  when  he  rose  to  reply.  Not 
until  he  took  the  floor,  and  saw  the  concourse,  and  felt 
the  hush,  did  he  feel  the  slightest  trepidation.  Then  for 
an  instant  the  responsibility  of  his  position  rushed  upon 
and  nearly  unmanned  him.  But  after  this  first  dizzy 
moment  was  over,  during  which  the  sea  of  faces  whirled 
around  him, —  after  a  single  recollection  how  his  brother 
had  fallen  dead,  a  year  before  in  a  similar  climax  of  ex¬ 
citement, —  he  subdued,  by  a  strong  effort,  his  trepidation; 


POLITICAL  ORATORS  —  WEBSTER.  335 

“  my  feet,"  he  says,  “  felt  the  floor  again,  they  seemed 
rooted  like  rocks,  and  all  that  I  had  ever  r^ad  or  thought 
or  acted  in  literature,  in  history,  in  law,  in  politics,  seemed 
to  unroll  before  me  in  glowing  panorama,  and  then  it  was 
easy,  if  I  wanted  a  thunderbolt,  to  reach  out  and  take  it 
as  it  went  smoking  by." 

Some  of  Webster’s  indiscriminate  eulogists  are  fond  of 
comparing  him  with  Burke.  The  difference  was,  that 
one  had  the  very  highest  order  of  talent ,  the  other  had 
genius.  Burke  was,  like  the  poet,  “  of  imagination  all: 
compact,”  and  to  this  he  added  profound  culture,  earnest¬ 
ness,  and  moral  sensibility;  Webster’s  forte  was  in  dialec¬ 
tics,  in  calm,  masterly  exposition,  in  massive  strength  of 
style,  in  all  the  qualities  that  give  men  leadership  in 
debate.  As  another  has  said,  “  Where  Webster  reasoned, 
Burke  philosophized;  where  Webster  was  serene,  equable, 
ponderous,  dealing  his  blows  like  an  ancient  catapult, 
Burke  was  clamorous,  fiery,  multitudinous,  rushing  for¬ 
ward  like  his  own  ‘whirlwind  of  cavalry.’  .  .  .  Webster 
was  the  Roman  temple,  stately,  solid,  massive;  Burke,  the 
Gothic  cathedral,  fantastic,  aspiring,  and  many-colored. 
The  sentences  of  Webster  roll  along  like  the  blasts  df 
the  trumpet  on  the  night  air;  those  of  Burke  are  like  the 
echoes  of  an  organ  in  some  ancient  minster.  Webster 
advances,  in  his  heavy  logical  march,  and  his  directness  of 
purpose,  like  a  Caesarean  legion,  close,  firm,  serried,  square; 
Burke,  like  an  oriental  procession,  with  elephants  and  tro¬ 
phies,  and  the  pomp  of  banners.”  Webster  never  could 
have  delivered  any  one  of  the  speeches  of  Burke  on  the 
trial  of  Hastings,  blazing  as  they  do  with  the  splendors 
of  a  gorgeous  rhetoric;  nor  could  Burke,  on  the  other 
hand,  have  made  that  overwhelming  extempore  reply  tq 


336 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


Hayne,  so  full  and  running  over  with  mingled  logic,  wit, 
irony,  satire,  persuasion,  and  pathos. 

Among  the  various  classifications  of  public  speakers, 
one  of  the  broadest  and  most  natural  is  that  of  orators 
and  rhetoricians, —  natural  orators  and  orators  who  have 
become  such  by  art.  Since  the  first  class  employ  more  or 
less  art,  and  the  latter  have  occasional  bursts  of  inspira¬ 
tion,  th°se  divisions,  like  all  others,  partially  overlap 
or  cross  each  other,  yet  it  is  none  the  less  a  just  one, 
which  will  suggest  itself  to  every  student  of  eloquence. 
The  natural,  or  born  orator,  speaks  from  an  irresistible 
impulse,  a  necessity,  an  insatiable  craving  of  his  nature. 
His  soul  is  stirred  to  its  depths  by  the  thoughts  and  feel¬ 
ings  that  clamor  for  utterance,  and  he  can  no  more  check 
their  expression  than  one  can  check  a  mountain  torrent 
in  its  flow.  His  emotions,  like  Banquo's  ghost,  will  not 
“down”  at  his  bidding;  he  is  rather  acted  upon  than  act¬ 
ing,  and  in  the  height  of  his  frenzy,  has  no  more  choice 
as  to  what  he  shall  utter  than  the  Sibyl  who  utters  the 
oracles  she  is  inspired  to  pronounce.  Even  when  such 
an  orator,  on  a  great  occasion,  “  cons  and  learns  by  rote  ” 
his  ideas  and  language,  he  finds  it  almost  impossible  to 
make  them  run  in  the  groove  which  he  had  previously 
prepared.  When  the  storm  is  up  within  him,  he  is  swept 
onward,  in  spite  of  himself,  in  directions  of  which  he  had 
not  dreamed;  some  of  the  arguments  and  illustrations 
which  he  had  most  carefully  pre-studied  are  forgotten, 
and  others  more  vivid  and  effective  crowd  upon  him  ; 
sentiments,  ideas,  and  fancies,  which  he  was  incapable  of 
originating  in  his  cooler  moments,  flash  incessantly  on 
his  brain;  the  whole  man  is  transfigured  to  the  hearers, 


POLITICAL  ORATORS  —  EVERETT. 


337 


and,  as  they  listen  to  his  tones,  it  seems  “  as  if  the  trum¬ 
pet-stop  of  a  grand  organ  were  opened,  and  the  hand  of 
a  wizard  coursed  along  its  keys.”  Not  so  with  the  rhet¬ 
orician,— the  speaker  who  owes  his  power  to  art.  He  is 
not  stung  and  goaded  into  eloquence  by  the  very  impulses 
of  his  being.  He  is  never  troubled  with  thoughts  that 
are  a  torment  to  him,  till  they  are  wreaked  upon  ex¬ 
pression,  and  reflected  from  the  faces  and  echoed  from 
the  throats  of  his  hearers.  His  eloquence  does  not  “  come 
like  the  outbreaking  of  a  fountain  upon  the  earth,  or  the 
bursting  forth  of  volcanic  fires.”  With  him  art  is  not 
merely  an  aid  to  oratory,  by  which  it  is  decorated  and 
embellished;  it  is  the  very  fountain  from  which  it  flows. 
He  has  cultivated  and  enriched  his  mind  with  the  most 
sedulous  care.  He  has  drunk  at  the  fountains  of  modern 
literature,  and  distilled  the  sweetness  of  the  Greek  and 
Roman  springs.  Not  only  his  thoughts  and  illustrations, 
but  his  very  words  and  tones  are  carefully  pre-studied,  and 
every  look  and  gesture  is  rehearsed  before  a  glass.  All 
his  climaxes  and  cadences,  his  outbursts  of  passion  and 
his  explosions  of  grief,  are  practiced  beforehand,  and  not 
a  look  nor  an  attitude,  not  a  modulation  nor  an  accent, 
is  left  to  the  inspiration  of  the  moment. 

To  this  class  of  speakers  belongs  Edward  Everett,  the 
most  consummate  rhetorician  that  America  has  yet  pro¬ 
duced.*  Probably  not  one  of  our  public  speakers  was  ever 
more  conscientious,  not  to  say  finical,  in  his  preparation 
for  the  rostrum.  Nothing  with  him  is  left  to  chance  or 
improvisation;  all  his  oratorical  flights,  as  well  as  the  less 
ambitious  parts  of  his  discourse,  are  made  with  “  malice 

*  For  convenience  we  have  placed  Everett  in  the  list  of  “  Political  Orators,” 
though  he  more  properly  ranks  as  a  platform  speaker. 

15  . 


338 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


prepense  and  aforethought.”  Not  a  word  but  has  been 
fitted  into  its  place  with  the  precision  of  each  stone  in  a 
mosaic;  not  an  epithet  but  has  been  weighed  in  the  hair- 
balance  of  the  most  fastidious  taste;  not  a  period  but  has 
been  polished  and  repolished,  and  modulated  with  the 
nicest  art,  till  it  is  totus  teres  atque  rotundus ,  and  mu¬ 
sical  as  the  tones  of  a  flute.  Even  his  attitudes  and  ges¬ 
tures  have  all  been  carefully  practiced  in  his  study,  and 
their  precise  effect  calculated  with  a  critical  eye.  One 
of  his  tricks  of  delivery  was  to  provide  himself  before¬ 
hand  with  certain  physical  objects  to  which  he  designed 
to  refer,  and  hold  them  at  the  proper  moment  to  the 
eyes  of  his  audience.  Thus,  in  delivering  the  magnificent 
passage  upon  Webster,  which  we  have  quoted  on  page  333, 
as  Everett  pealed  out  the  words,  “  his  broad  pennant 
streaming  at  the  main,”  he  caught  up  from  the  table,  as 
if  unconsciously,  an  elegant  flag  of  the  Union,  and  waved 
it  to  and  fro  amid  the  shouts  of  his  ravished  and  en¬ 
thusiastic  hearers.  At  another  time,  in  an  agricultural 
address,  having  dwelt  in  glowing  terms  upon  a  New- 
England  product  which  he  declared  was  brighter  and 
better  than  California  gold,  he  produced  and  brandished 
before  the  eyes  of  the  people,  at  the  moment  when  curi¬ 
osity  was  on  tiptoe,  a  golden  ear  of  corn.  Again,  to 
illustrate  a  remark,  he,  on  another  occasion,  put  his 
finger  in  a  tumbler  of  water,  and  let  a  drop  trickle  off; 
and,  yet  again,  in  an  academic  address,  having  spoken  of 
the  electric  wire  which  was  destined  to  travel  the  deep- 
soundings  of  the  ocean,  among  the  bones  of  lost  Armadas, 
he  “  realized”  the  description  by  displaying  an  actual  piece 
of  the  Submarine  Atlantic  Cable.  Proceeding  to  compare 
that  wire,  murmuring  the  thought  of  America  through 


POLITICAL  ORATORS  —  EVERETT. 


339 


leagues  of  ocean,  to  the  printed  page,  which,  he  declared, 
was  a  yet  greater  marvel,  since  it  murmured  to  us  the 
thought  of  Homer  through  centuries, —  he  held  up  to  view 
a  small  copy  of  the  “Iliad”  and  “Odyssey.” 

In  reading  Everett’s  speeches,  you  feel  that  they  are 
the  highest  triumph  of  art, —  the  acme  of  literary  finish, 
—  rhetoric  in  “its  finest  and  most  absolute  burnish.”  In 
them  we  have  his  thoughts  “  thrice  winnowed,”  the  ripest 
and  best  products  of  his  varied  scholarship  and  his  rare 
genius.  It  may  be  said  of  his  oratorical  muse,  as  of  Mil¬ 
ton’s  Eve,  that  “  grace  is  in  all  her  steps.”  The  only 
drawback  to  this  kind  of  oratory  is,  that  it  is  too  apt  to 
lack  abandonment,  that  self-forgetfulness  and  fervor  which 
are  the  soul  of  oratory,  and  without  which,  though  it  may 
tickle  the  ear,  it  does  not  thrill  the  heart.  It  may  daz¬ 
zle  you  by  its  flashes  of  heat  lightning,  but  it  never 
strikes  you  with  the  thunderbolt.  It  is  like  the  music  of 
a  fine  barrel-organ  compared  with  the  ever-varying  har¬ 
monies  of  the  orchestra.  Every  one  knows  that  much  of 
the  power  of  an  orator  depends  upon  those  glowing 
thoughts  and  expressions  which  are  struck  out  in  the  ex¬ 
citement  and  heat  of  debate,  and  which  even  the  speaker 
himself  is  unable,  afterward  to  recall.  Perhaps  the  larger 
part  of  the  poetry  of  eloquence  is  of  this  character.  There 
is  a  secret  magic  in  the  “  electric  kindling  of  life  between 
two  or  more  minds,”  in  the  velocities  and  contagious  ardor 
of  debate,  which  arms  a  man  with  new  forces,  as  well  as 
with  new  dexterity  in  wielding  old  ones, —  suggesting 
thoughts,  arguments,  analogies,  and  illustrations,  which 
would  never  have  occurred  to  him  in  the  stillness  of  the 
study.  De  Quincey  has  remarked  that  great  organists  find 
the  same  effect  of  inspiration,  the  same  result  of  power 


340 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


creative  and  revealing,  in  the  mere  movement  and  velocity 
of  their  own  voluntaries,  like  the  heavenly  wheels  of  Mil- 
ton,  throwing  off  fiery  flakes  and  bickering  flames;  these 
impromptu  torrents  of  music  create  rapturous  Jioriture, 
beyond  all  capacity  in  the  artist  to  register,  or  afterward 
to  imitate.  All  the  great  works  of  eloquence  are,  or  ap¬ 
pear,  like  those  bronze  statues  which  the  artist  has  cast 
at  a  single  sitting. 

Everett  is  an  example  of  all  that  can  be  done  by  mere 
rhetorical  and  elocutionary  training  to  charm  and  per¬ 
suade;  but  no  one  can  doubt  that,  had  nature  framed 
him  with  a  more  emotional  nature,  his  achievements 
would  have  been  greater.  He  has  the  art  and  mech¬ 
anism  of  eloquence,  rather  than  its  genius;  he  is  the 
Kemble  rather  than  the  Kean  of  the  rostrum.  One 
of  his  friendly  critics  quotes  the  saying  of  a  shrewd  old 
lady  concerning  John  Foster’s  nominally  extemporaneous 
prayers,  that  they  were  “  Foster’s  Stand-up  Essays,”  and 
adds  that,  triumphant  and  charming  as  these  orations  are, 
the  hearer  never  forgets  that  they  are  Everett’s  “  Stand- 
up  Essays.”  It  is  well  known  that  their  author  failed  in 
Congress, — not  because  his  speeches  were  too  fine,  but  be¬ 
cause  they  were  not  sufficiently  condensed  for  a  parlia¬ 
mentary  assembly,  and  because  they  were  rather  eloquent 
pieces  of  writing  than  speeches  in  the  proper  sense  of  the 
term.  There  is  a  colossal  grandeur  and  a  massive  strength 
in  Webster’s  speeches  that  remind  you  of  an  Egyptian 
pyramid;  the  symmetry  and  classic  elegance  of  Everett 
call  to  mind  the  Greek  temple.  Everett  has  no  pithy, 
pointed  phrases,  like  Webster’s,  in  which  a  whole  argu¬ 
ment  is  packed.  Choate  well  said:  “Webster’s  phrases 
are  much  more  telling  than  Everett’s;  they  run  through 


POLITICAL  ORATORS  —  EVERETT. 


341 


the  land  like  coin.”  After  all,  it  is  the  acer  spiritus  et 
vis  that  is  the  first  element  of  oratory.  Some  Frenchman 
says:  “V eloquence  continuee  ennuie ” ;  and  it  is  true  that, 
ere  long,  the  honeyed  phrases  of  the  mellifluous  orator 
grow  wearisome;  the  flowery  style  that  is  mistaken  for 
poetry  palls  upon  us.  Again,  Everett  never  impresses  you, 
as  do  Webster  and  Clay,  with  the  feeling  that  the  man 
is  more  puissant  than  his  periods.  His  expressions  do  not 
suggest  a  region  of  thought,  a  dim  vista  of  imagery,  an 
oceanic  depth  of  feeling,  beyond  what  is  compassed  by  his 
sentences.  He  never  seems  to  struggle  with  language  in 
order  to  wrest  from  it  words  enough  for  his  wealth  of 
thought.  It  is  not  an  example  of  “  Strength,  half  leaning 
on  its  own  right  arm,”  but  of  Beauty  endowed  with  every 
natural  and  artificial  charm. 

Nevertheless,  let  us  not  fail  to  do  justice  to  Mr.  Ever¬ 
ett’s  real  merits,  for  he  has  many  and  great  ones.  The 
great  charm  of  his  orations  does  not  lie  in  any  one  trait, 
but  in  their  symmetry  and  finish,  the  proofs  they  exhibit 
on  every  page  that  they  are  the  products  of  the  most 
careful  culture.  The  style  seems  to  us  the  very  perfec¬ 
tion  of  the  epideictic,  or  demonstrative  style.  Artificial  it 
undoubtedly  is,  and  occasionally,  though  rarely,  may  be¬ 
tray  the  artist’s  tooling;  but  it  is  a  style  formed  by  the 
most  assiduous  painstaking,  and  polished  by  a  taste  as 
exquisitely  sensitive  as  a  blind  man’s  touch.  If, —  as  it 
has  been  well  said, —  it  does  not  snatch  a  grace  beyond 
the  reach  of  art,  it  certainly  snatches  all  that  are  within 
reach.  It  is  a  style  which  is  remarkable  alike  for  its 
seeming  ease  and  for  its  flexibility,  rising  and  falling,  as 
it  does,  with  the  theme, —  now  plain  and  now  ornamental, 
—  at  one  moment  swelling  in  climaxes,  and  at  the  next 


342 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


sinking  to  its  ordinary  level, —  terse  or  flowing,  pointed 
or  picturesque, —  always  responding  to  the  dominant  mood 
of  the  speaker,  as  the  instrument  responds  to  the  touch 
of  the  master’s  fingers.  Above  all,  does  it  thrill  and 
charm  by  its  delicious  cadences,  some  of  which  linger 
forever  in  the  ear  like  strains  of  delicious  music.  There 
are  occasional  pages  of  transcendent  beauty  that  one  can¬ 
not  read  without  a  tremor,  a  shiver  in  the  blood,  such  as 
perfect  verse  sometimes  produces.  It  is  for  this  reason 
that  so  many  passages  from  Everett’s  speeches  are  treas¬ 
ured  in  school-books,  selected  for  declamation,  and  quoted 
on  festal  days.  He  is  the  very  beau  ideal  of  a  Fourth  of 
July  orator.  What  can  be  more  felicitous  than  the  choice 
and  collocation  of  the  words  in  the  following  passages  from 
his  addresses?  — 

“■The  awful  voice  of  the  storm  howls  through  the  rigging.  The  laboring 
masts  seem  straining  from  their  base;— the  dismal  sound  of  the  pumps  is  heard; 
—  the  ship  leaps,  as  it  were,  madly,  from  billow  to  billow; — the  ocean  breaks, 
and  settles  with  engulphing  floods  over  the  floating  deck,  and  beats  with  dead¬ 
ening  weight  against  the  staggered  vessel.” 

“  Greece  cries  to  us  by  the  convulsed  lips  of  her  poisoned,  dying  Demosthe¬ 
nes;  and  Rome  pleads  with  us,  in  the  mute  persuasion  of  her  mangled  Tally. ” 

“  Before  the  heaving  bellows  had  urged  the  furnace,  before  a  hammer  had 
been  struck  upon  an  anvil,  before  the  gleaming  waters  had  flashed  from  an  oar. 
before  trade  had  hung  up  its  scales  or  gauged  its  measures,  the  culture  of  the 
soil  began.  1  To  dress  the  garden  and  to  keep  it,1— this  was  the  key-note  struck 
by  the  hand  of  God  himself  in  that  long,  joyous,  wailing,  triumphant,  troubled, 
pensive  strain  of  life-music  which  sounds  through  the  generations  and  ages  of 
our  race.” 

“They  come  from  the  embattled  cliffs  of  Abraham;  they  start  from  the 
heaving  sods  of  Bunker's  hill ;  they  gather  from  the  blazing  lines  of  Saratoga  and 
Yorktown;  from  the  blood-dyed  waters  of  the  Brandywine;  from  the  dreary 
snows  of  Valley  Forge,  and  all  the  hard-fought  fields  of  the  war.” 

In  glancing  over  liis  published  volumes,  we  are  struck 
by  the  vast  number  of  topics  which  Everett  has  treated, 
and  the  affluence  of  learning  with  which  he  has  illustrated 
them.  Here  are  elaborate  literary  addresses  before  col¬ 
lege  and  academic  audiences,  anniversary  discourses  cele- 


POLITICAL  ORATORS  —  EVERETT. 


343 


brating  the  great  battles  of  the  Revolution,  Fourth-of-July 
orations,  eulogies  on  La  Fayette  and  American  patriots, 
as  Adams  and  Jefferson,  and  John  Quincy  Adams;  lyceum 
lectures;  festival,  agricultural,  scientific,  educational,  tem¬ 
perance,  charitable,  legislative  addresses,  etc.,  any  one  of 
which  shows  a  wealth  of  knowledge  and  a  felicity  of 
treatment  sufficient  to  make  the  reputation  of  an  ordi¬ 
nary  speaker.  One  knows  not  which  most  to  admire  in 
these  discourses,  the  comprehensive  grasp  of  mind,  the 
power  of  minute  observation,  and  the  strong  common  sense 
which  they  reveal,  or  the  vivid  imagination,  the  glowing 
fancy,  and  the  exquisite  taste,  which  have  caused  even 
the  most  hackneyed  topics  to  receive  a  new,  intenser,  and 
brighter  illumination  from  his  pen.  The  thoroughly  Amer¬ 
ican  tone  of  his  historical  discourses  will  strike  every 
reader,  as  will  also  the  pictorial  power  with  which  he 
depicts  past  events  and  scenes.  Like  certain  animals 
whose  color  is  that  of  the  trees  or  earth  on  which  they 
grow,  he  is  always  blended  and  identified  with  his  natal 
soil. 

One  of  his  noblest  efforts  is  his  first  Phi-Beta-Kappa 
Oration,  delivered  at  Cambridge  in  1824.  It  was  a  de¬ 
fense  of  republican  institutions,  as  affecting  the  cultiva¬ 
tion  of  letters  and  science.  The  orator  was  then  in  the 
flush  of  early  manhood,  and  astonished  all  who  heard  him 
by  the  amplitude  of  his  learning,  the  richness  of  his 
fancy,  the  captivating  and  luxuriant  beauty  of  his  meta¬ 
phors  and  tropes,  and  the  witchery  of  his  diction  and 
elocution.  The  style  is  polished  to  the  last  degree  of  art, 
and  the  concluding  passages,  particularly  the  address  to 
Lafayette,  stir  the  blood  like  the  sound  of  a  trumpet.  The 
Plymouth  and  Concord  addresses  are  also  masterpieces  of 


344 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


their  kind,  and  we  doubt  whether  Macaulay,  among  all 
his  gorgeous  pieces  of  historical  painting,  has  anything 
more  impressive  than  the  celebrated  description  of  the 
landing  of  the  Pilgrims,  or  the  vivid  picture  of  the  death¬ 
bed  of  Copernicus.  The  eulogy  on  La  Fayette,  with  its 
masterly  contrast  between  La  Fayette  and  Napoleon,  and 
the  concluding  apostrophe  to  Washington’s  picture  and  the 
bust  of  La  Fayette,  abound  also  in  that  vigor  of  concep¬ 
tion,  that  luxuriance  of  imagery,  that  felicity  of  allusion, 
that  beauty  of  word-painting,  and  that  exquisite  rhythmus, 
which  characterize  all  his  productions.  He  has  rifled  the 
gardens,  both  of  ancient  and  modern  literature,  of  their 
amaranthine  flowers,  and  their  fragrance  breathes  from 
every  sentence  that  drops  from  his  pen.  All  these  gifts 
would  have  been  comparatively  unavailing,  had  his  phys¬ 
ical  gifts  not  corresponded  to  them.  Happily,  Nature  did 
not  tantalize  him  in  this  way,  but  gave  him  a  fine,  well- 
proportioned  figure,  a  countenance  in  which  gravity  and 
thoughtfulness  were  mingled  with  gentleness,  and  an  eye 
large  and  beaming,  and  dilating,  at  times,  with  wonderful 
lustre.  She  gave  him  also,  a  voice  clear  and  sweet,  as 
well  as  full,  rich,  and  varied.  It  was  equally  fitted  to 
utter  the  softest  tones  of  pity,  and  the  loftiest  accents  of 
indignation;  its  lowest  whisper  was  distinctly  heard  in  a 
large  hall,  and  when  its  full  volume  rolled  over  an  audi¬ 
ence,  it  was  like  the  swell  of  an  organ.  His  gestures, 
too,  if  not  so  impressive  as  those  of  more  impassioned  or¬ 
ators,  were  singularly  graceful,  expressive,  and  appropri¬ 
ate.  In  short,  to  sum  up,  Everett’s  eloquence  was  marked 
not  so  much  by  any  one  predominating  excellence,  as  by 
the  fusion  of  various  excellences  into  one.  It  was  not  due 
to  richness  of  thought,  to  affluence  of  fancy,  to  ripe  schol- 


POLITICAL  ORATORS  —  EVERETT. 


345 


arsliip,  to  an  exquisite  sense  of  the  proprieties  and  har¬ 
monies  of  speech,  to  silvery  tones,  or  expressive  gestures, 
but  to  a  happy  blending  of  them  all, —  a  union  as  perfect 
as  the  blending  of  the  prismatic  colors  in  a  ray  of  light. 
He  did  not  merely  convince,  or  move,  or  charm  his  hear¬ 
ers,  but  they  were  subdued  and  captivated  by  an  appeal 
to  their  reason,  heart,  and  senses,  together.  To  read  his 
addresses,  now  that  his  silvery  accents  are  hushed,  is  a 
rare  pleasure;  but  to  hear  them,  accompanied  by  the  magic 
spell  of  his  delivery, —  by  the  cadences  and  tones,  “the 
swells  and  sweeps  and  subsidences  of  feeling,”  the  poetry 
of  gesture,  attitude,  and  eye,  with  which  the  enchanter 
sent  them  home  to  the  mind  and  heart, —  was  a  felicity 
which  one  may  no  more  forget  than  he  can  give  expres¬ 
sion  to  it  in  words. 


CHAPTER  XIL 


FORENSIC  ORATORS. 

IN  the  long  roll  of  names  which  have  shed  lustre  on 
the  British  bar,  there  is  no  one  about  which  clusters 
more  of  romance  and  undying  interest  than  about  that 
of  Thomas  Erskine.  The  remarkable  circumstances  un¬ 
der  which  he  was  called  to  the  bar, —  the  giant  strides  by 
which  he  rose  to  the  very  heights  of  the  profession, —  the 
brilliancy  of  his  eloquence, —  his  profound  knowledge  of 
human  nature  and  the  workings  of  human  passion, —  the 
singular  union  in  his'  mind  of  courage  with  caution,  of 
coolness  and  self-possession  with  enthusiasm, —  his  rare 
powers  of  persuasion, —  his  elegant  physique  and  personal 
magnetism, —  all  have  invested  the  name  of  this  great 
Nisi  Prius  leader  with  a  fascination  which  attaches  to  that 
of  hardly  any  other  great  lawyer,  from  Sir  Thomas  More 
to  Sir  William  Follett.  “ Nostrce  eloquentice  forensis  facile 
princepsf  is  the  inscription  placed  upon  the  fine  bust  of 
Lord  Erskine  by  Nollekens,  and  by  universal  admission, 
the  defender  of  Tooke  and  Stockdale  has  been  awarded 
the  palm  over  all  compeers, —  while  one  of  his  biogra¬ 
phers,  himself  an  occupant  of  the  woolsack,  has  pronounced 
him  the  greatest  advocate,  as  well  as  the  first  forensic 
orator,  who  ever  appeared  in  any  age. 

The  circumstances  of  his  early  life  are  well  known  to 
all.  The  family  to  which  he  belonged  was  one  of  ancient 

340 


FORENSIC  ORATORS  —  ERSKINE.  347 

# 

pedigree,  and  had  been  remarkably  prolific  in  men  of  tal¬ 
ents,  but  was  now  reduced  to  the  very  verge  of  poverty. 
The  means  of  the  Earl  of  Buchan,  his  father,  had  been 
exhausted  in  educating  his  two  eldest  sons,  and  the  young¬ 
est  was  therefore  obliged  to  start  in  life  with  but  little 
training  and  a  scanty  stock,  if  stock  it  could  be  called,  of 
classical  learning.  While  at  school  he  exhibited  a  reten- 
tive  memory,  and  when  roused  by  extraordinary  stimuli, 
great  capacity  for  labor;  but,  on  the  whole,  he  was  lazy, 
and  gave  little  promise  of  future  distinction.  His  play¬ 
fulness  and  love  of  fun,  his  lively  fancy  and  nimble  wit, 
made  him,  nevertheless,  the  favorite  of  his  schoolmates  — 
of  all,  indeed,  who  knew  him;  and  when  we  add  to  these 
high  social  qualities  the  great  natural  ability,  prodigious 
capacity  of  application,  and  self-confidence  amounting  to 
absolute  egotism,  which  he  possessed,  it  is  not  wonder¬ 
ful,  perhaps,  that  when  called  to  the  bar,  he  was  able  to 
place  himself  in  the  very  front  rank  of  his  fellow-gowns¬ 
men.  At  the  age  of  fourteen  he  became  a  midshipman 
in  the  navy,  where  he  remained  four  years,  till,  upon  the 
death  of  his  father,  he  decided  to  try  his  fortune  in  the 
army.  Being  ordered  with  his  regiment  to  Minorca,  and 
finding  himself,  at  the  age  of  twenty,  shut  up  in  a  small 
island,  exiled  from  congenial  society,  and  thrown  upon 
his  own  resources,  he  applied  himself  diligently  to  study, 
and  to  the  cultivation  of  the  naturally  powerful  genius 
with  which  he  was  endowed.  Laboriously  and  systemat¬ 
ically  he  tried  to  master  the  English  literature,  and  read 
thoughtfully  the  great  classics  of  our  language.  Milton 
and  Shakspeare  were  his  favorite  authors,  and  he  read  and 
re-read  their  pages,  with  those  of  Pope  and  Dryden,  un¬ 
til  he  had  them  almost  by  heart.  Returning  to  England, 


348 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


he  was  promoted  to  a  lieutenancy,  but  grew  weary  of 
trudging  about  from  one  provincial  town  to  another,  es¬ 
pecially  as  he  was  compelled  all  the  while  to  keep  his 
family  in  a  barrack-room  or  in  lodgings.  Conscious  of 
powers  that  fitted  him  to  adorn  a  larger  sphere,  he  chafed 
against  the  iron  circumstances  that  hemmed  him  in,  like 
an  eagle  against  the  bars  of  his  cage.  At  this  juncture 
he  chanced  to  attend  a  trial  before  Lord  Mansfield,  and, 
while  listening  with  the  keenest  interest  to  the  argu- 
ments  of  the  able  counsel,  fancied  that  he  could  have 
made  a  better  speech  than  any  of  them,  on  whichever 
side  retained.  The  thought  then  struck  him  that  it  might 
not  even  now  be  too  late  to  become  a  lawyer.  Acting 
at  once  upon  this  thought  with  a  self-confidence  which 
was  itself  almost  a  sure  prophecy  of  success,  he  was  en¬ 
tered  in  April,  1775,  as  a  student  of  Lincoln’s  Inn,  and 
in  July,  1778,  was  called  to  the  bar. 

The  distinguishing  traits  of  his  eloquence  were  shown, 
in  a  large  degree,  in  his  very  first  jury  address,  which 
was  made  in  the  following  November.  The  circumstances 
of  the  case  were  these:  A  certain  Captain  Baillie,  a  vet¬ 
eran  seaman  of  great  worth,  who,  for  his  services,  held 
an  office  at  the  Greenwich  Hospital,  discovered  in  the 
establishment  the  grossest  of  abuses.  Having  vainly  tried 
to  obtain  a  redress  of  these  evils,  he  published  a  state¬ 
ment  of  the  case,  severely  censuring  Lord  Sandwich,  First 
Lord  of  the  Admiralty,  who,  for  electioneering  purposes, 
had  placed  in  the  Hospital  many  landsmen.  Captain  B. 
was  at  once  suspended  by  the  Board  of  Admiralty,  and, 
instigated  by  Lord  Sandwich,  who  himself  kept  in  the 
background,  some  of  the  inferior  agents  filed  against  Mr.  B. 
a  criminal  information  for  libel.  The  case  excited  great 


FORENSIC  ORATORS  —  ERSKINE. 


349 


public  interest,  and  the  facts  were  everywhere  canvassed. 
Dining  at  a  friend’s  house  where  Captain  Baillie  was 
present,  Erskine,  who  was  a  stranger  to  the  Captain,  de¬ 
nounced  with  great  severity  the  corrupt  and  scandalous 
practices  imputed  to  Lord  Sandwich.  Inquiring  who  the 
young  man  was,  Baillie  was  told  that  he  had  just  been 
called  to  the  bar,  and  had  formerly  been  in  the  navy, — 
upon  which  the  Captain  at  once  said,  “  Then  I’ll  have  him 
for  my  counsel.”  When  Michaelmas  came  round,  a  brief 
was  delivered  to  Erskine;  but  to  his  dismay  he  found  upon 
it  the  names  of  four  senior  counsel,  and,  despairing  of 
being  heard  after  so  many  predecessors,  he  gave  himself 
no  trouble  about  the  matter.  Moreover,  the  other  counsel 
had  so  little  hope  of  success  that  they  advised  Captain 
Baillie  to  pay  the  costs  and  escape  a  trial,  as  the  prosecu¬ 
tion  had  proposed.  But  Erskine  strenuously  dissented,  and 
the  defendant  agreed  with  him.  “  You  are  the  man  for 
me,”  he  said,  hugging  the  young  advocate  in  his  arms, 
“  I  will  never  give  up.”  Once  more  his  star  favored  him. 
When  the  cause  came  on,  the  affidavits  were  so  long,  and 
some  of  the  counsel  so  tedious, —  a  tediousness  aggravated 
by  the  circumstance  that  one  of  them  was  afflicted  with 
strangury,  and  had  to  retire  once  or  twice  in  the  course 
of  his  argument, —  that  Lord  Mansfield  adjourned  the  cause 
till  the  next  morning,  thus  giving  the  young  advocate  a 
whole  night  to  arrange  his  thoughts,  and  enabling  him 
to  address  the  court  when  its  faculties  were  awake  and 
freshened. 

The  next  day,  the  judges  having  taken  their  seats,  and 
the  court  being  crowded  with  an  eager  audience,  to  the 
general  surprise  “  there  arose  from  the  back  seat  a  young 
gentleman  whose  name  as  well  as  whose  face  was  unknown 


350 


OKATORY  ANI)  ORATORS. 


to  almost  all  present,  and  who,  in  a  collected,  firm,  but 
sweet,  modest,  and  conciliating  tone,”  began  his  address. 
After  a  short  exordium,  he  proceeded  to  show  that  his 
client  had  written  nothing  but  the  truth,  and  had  acted 
strictly  within  the  line  of  his  duty.  He  then  denounced 
in  that  vehement  and  indignant  language  of  which  he 
afterward  proved  himself  so  consummate  a  master,  the 
injustice  which  had  suspended  such  a  man  from  office 
without  proof  of  his  guilt,  and  mentioned  Lord  Sandwich 
by  name, —  when  Lord  Mansfield  interposed,  and  reminded 
the  counsel  that  the  First  Lord  of  the  Admiralty  was  not 
before  the  Court.  It  was  at  this  critical  moment  that  was 
manifested  for  the  first  time  by  Erskine  that  heroic  courage 
which  shone  forth  so  conspicuously  in  all  his  subsequent 
career.  Unawed  by  the  words  or  venerable  presence  of 
Mansfield,  whose  word  had  been  law  in  Westminster  Hall 
for  a  quarter  of  a  century,  the  intrepid  young  advocate 
burst  forth  impetuously: 

“  I  know  that  he  is  not  formally  before  the  court,  but,  for  that  very  reason, 
I  will  bring  him  before  the  court.  lie  has  placed  these  men  in  the  front  of  the 
battle,  in  order  to  escape  under  their  shelter,  but  I  will  not  join  in  battle  with 
them;  their  vices,  though  screwed  up  to  the  highest  pitch  of  depravity,  are  not 
of  dignity  enough  to  vindicate  the  combat  with  me.  I  will  drag  him  to  light  who 
is  the  dark  mover  behind  this  scene  of  iniquity.  I  assert  that  the  Earl  of  Sand¬ 
wich  has  but  one  road  to  escape  out  of  this  business  without  pollution  and  dis¬ 
grace,—  and  that  is,  by  publicly  disavowing  the  acts  of  the  prosecutors,  and 
restoring  Captain  Baillie  to  his  command  ...  If,  on  the  contrary,  he  continues 
to  protect  the  prosecutors  in  spite  of  the  evidence  of  their  guilt,  which  has  ex¬ 
cited  the  abhorrence  of  the  numerous  audience  who  crowd  this  court,  if  he  keeps 
this  injured  man  suspended,  or  dares  to  turn  that  suspension  into  a  removal,  I 
shall  then  not  scruple  to  declare  him  an  accomplice  in  their  guilt ,  a  shameless  op¬ 
pressor ,  a  disgrace  to  his  rank ,  and  a  traitor  to  his  trust. 

“  My  lords,  this  matter  is  of  the  last  importance.  I  speak  not  as  an  advocate 
alone,— I  speak  to  you  as  a  man , —  as  a  member  of  the  state  whose  very  exist¬ 
ence  depends  upon  her  naval  strength.  If  our  fleets  are  to  be  crippled  by  the 
baneful  influence  of  elections,  we  are  lost  indeed.  If  the  seaman,  while  he 
exposes  his  body  to  fatigues  and  dangers,  looking  forward  to  Greenwich  as  an 
asylum  for  infirmity  and  old  age,  sees  the  gates  of  it  blocked  up  by  corruption, 
and  hears  the  mirth  and  riot  of  luxurious  landsmen  drowning  the  groans  and 
complaints  of  the  wounded,  helpless  companions  of  his  glory,—  he  will  tempt  the 


FORENSIC  ORATORS  —  ERSKINE. 


351 


seas  no  more.  The  Admiralty  may  press  his  body  indeed,  at  the  expense  of  hu¬ 
manity  and  the  constitution,  but  they  cannot  press  his  mind;  they  cannot  press 
the  heroic  ardor  of  a  British  sailor;  and,  instead  of  a  fleet  to  carry  terror  all 
around  the  globe,  the  Admiralty  may  not  be  able  much  longer  to  amuse  us  with 
even  the  peaceable,  unsubstantial  pageant  of  a  review.  (There  had  just  been  a 
naval  review  at  Portsmouth.)  Fine  and  imprisonment!  The  man  deserves  a 
palace ,  instead  of  a  prison ,  who  prevents  the  palace  built  by  the  public  bounty  of 
his  country  from  being  converted  into  a  dungeon,  and  who  sacrifices  his  own 
security  to  the  interests  of  humanity  and  virtue !  ” 

It  is  scarcely  necessary  to  say  that  the  decision  was 
for  the  defendant.  The  elfect  produced  by  this  bold  and 
impassioned  burst  of  eloquence  was  prodigious.  Erskine 
had  entered  Westminster  Hall  that  morning  a  pauper; 
he  left  it  a  rich  man.  As  he  marched  along  the  hall, 
after  the  judges  had  risen,  the  attorneys  flocked  around 
him  with  their  briefs,  and  retainer  fees  rained  upon  him. 
From  this  time  his  business  rapidly  increased  until  his 
annual  income  amounted  to  £12,000.  A  rise  so  rapid  is 
hardly  paralleled  out  of  the  fairy  tales  of  the  Arabian 
Nights.  Considering  all  the  circumstances  under  which 
the  speech  was  delivered, —  that  it  was  the  maiden  effort 
of  a  barrister  only  just  called,  and  wholly  unpracticed  in 

public  speaking,  before  a  court  crowded  with  men  of  the 

• 

greatest  distinction,  and  of  all  parties  in  the  state, —  that 
the  debutant  came  after  four  eminent  counsel,  who  might 
have  been  supposed  to  have  exhausted  the  subject, —  that 
he  was  checked  “in  mid-volley”  by  no  less  a  judge  than 
Mansfield, —  we  do  not  wonder  that  Lord  Campbell  pro¬ 
nounces  it  “  the  most  wonderful  forensic  effort  of  which 
we  have  any  account  in  British  annals.  The  exclamation, 
‘I  will  bring  him  before  the  court!’  and  the  crushing 
denunciation  of  Lord  Sandwich, —  in  which  he  was  enabled 
to  persevere  from  the  sympathy  of  the  bystanders,  and 
even  of  the  judges,  who,  in  strictness,  ought  to  have  checked 
his  irregularity, —  are  as  soul-stirring  as  anything  in  this 


352 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


species  of  eloquence  presented  to  us  by  ancient  or  modern 
times.” 

Mr.  Erskine’s  first  important  argument  before  a  jury 
was  made  in  defense  of  Lord  George  Gordon,  in  1781. 
His  speech  in  that  case  sounded  the  death-knell  of  con¬ 
structive  treason.  Lord  Campbell,  in  speaking  of  it,  says: 
“  Regularly  trained  to  the  law,  having  practiced  thirty 
years  at  the  bar,  having  been  Attorney-General  above 
seven  years,  having  been  present  at  many  trials  of  high 
treason,  and  having  conducted  several  myself,  I  again 
peruse  with  increased  astonishment  and  delight,  the  speech 
delivered  on  this  occasion.  .  .  .  Here  I  find  not  only  won¬ 
derful  acuteness,  powerful  reasoning,  enthusiastic  zeal,  and 
burning  eloquence,  but  the  most  masterly  view  ever  given 
of  the  English  law  of  high  treason,  the  foundation  of  all 
our  liberty.”  It  was,  however,  in  the  celebrated  state  trials 
during  the  “  Reign  of  Terror,”  from  1792  to  1806,  that 
Erskine  won  his  highest  fame  as  an  advocate, —  when  by 
his  genius  and  exertions  he  obtained  verdicts  of  acquittal 
in  the  teeth  of  a  strong  government,  and  rescued,  as  his 
friends  believed,  the  public  liberties  from  danger.  His 
speeches  for  and  against  Thomas  Paine,  in  defense  of 
Hardy,  Horne  Tooke,  Thelwall,  and,  above  all,  the  one  in 
defense  of  Stockdale,  are  masterpieces  of  argument  and 
eloquence  which  have  never  been  surpassed  in  Europe  or 
America.  The  latter  is  admitted  by  common  consent  to 
be  the  chef-d'oeuvre  of  Lord  Erskine’s  orations,  and,  take 
it  all  in  all,  the  most  consummate  specimen  of  forensic 
oratory  in  our  language.  What  can  be  finer  than  the 
following  apology  for  excess,  which  is  one  only  of  many 
gems  in  this  oration? 


FORENSIC  ORATORS  —  ERSKINE. 


353 


“  From  minds  thus  subdued  by  the  terrors  of  punishment  there  could  issue 
no  works  of  genius  to  expand  the  empire  of  human  reason,  nor  any  masterly 
compositions  on  the  general  nature  of  government,  by  the  help  of  which  the 
great  commonwealths  of  mankind  have  founded  their  establishments;  much 
less  any  of  those  useful  applications  of  them  to  critical  conjunctures,  by  which, 
from  time  to  time,  our  own  constitution,  by  the  exertions  of  patriot  citizens,  has 
been  brought  back  to  its  standard.  Under  such  terrors  all  the  great  lights  of  sci¬ 
ence  and  civilization  must  be  extinguished,—  for  men  cannot  communicate  then- 
free  thoughts  to  one  another  with  a  lash  held  over  their  heads.  It  is  the  nature 
of  everything  that  is  great  and  useful,  both  in  the  animate  and  inanimate  world, 
to  be  wild  and  irregular;  and  we  must  be  contented  to  take  them  with  the  alloys 
which  belong  to  them,  or  live  without  them.  Genius  breaks  from  the  fetters 
of  criticism;  but  its  wanderings  are  sanctioned  by  its  majesty  and  wisdom  when 
it  advances  in  its  path;  subject  it  to  the  critic,  and  you  tame  it  into  dullness. 
Mighty  rivers  break  down  their  banks  in  the  winter,  sweeping  to  death  the  flocks 
which  are  fattened  on  the  soil  that  they  fertilize  in  the  summer,—' the  few  may 
be  saved  by  embankments  from  drowning,  but  the  flock  must  perish  for  hunger. 
Tempests  occasionally  shake  our  dwellings  and  dissipate  our  commerce ;  but 
they  scourge  before  them  the  lazy  elements  which  without  them  would  stagnate 
into  pestilence.  In  like  manner,  Liberty  herself,  the  last  and  best  gift  of  God  to 
his  creatures,  must  be  taken  just  as  she  is.  You  might  pare  her  down  into  bash¬ 
ful  regularity,  and  shape  her  into  a  perfect  model  of  severe  scrupulous  law;  but 
she  would  then  be  Liberty  no  longer,— and  you  must  be  content  to  die  under 
the  lash  of  this  inexorable  justice,  which  you  had  exchanged  for  the  banners  of 
freedom.” 

It  was  in  the  same  speech  that  he  delivered  “  that  vic¬ 
torious  and  triumphant  passage,”  as  Lord  Brougham  terms 
it,  “  which  contributed,  doubtless,  largely  to  the  deliver¬ 
ance  of  his  client,  and  will  remain  an  everlasting  monu¬ 
ment  of  his  own  glory,  whilst  the  name  of  England  and 
its  language  shall  endure”: 

“  I  have  been  speaking  of  man  and  his  nature,  and  of  human  dominion, 
from  what  I  have  seen  of  them  myself  among  nations  reluctant  of  our  au¬ 
thority.  I  know  what  they  feel,  and  how  such  feelings  can  alone  be  re¬ 
pressed.  I  have  heard  them  in  my  youth  from  a  naked  savage,  in  the  indig¬ 
nant  character  of  a  prince,  surrounded  by  his  subjects,  addressing  the  governor 
of  a  British  colony,  holding  a  bundle  of  sticks  in  his  hands,  as  the  notes  of 
his  unlettered  eloquence.  1  Who  is  it,’  said  the  jealous  ruler  of  the  desert, 
encroached  upon  by  the  restless  foot  of  English  adventure,—1  who  is  it  that 
causes  to  blow  the  loud  winds  of  winter,  and  that  calms  them  again  in  sum¬ 
mer?  Who  is  it  that  causes  this  river  to  rise  in  the  mountains,  and  to  empty 
itself  in  the  ocean?  Who  is  it  that  rears  up  the  shade  of  these  lofty  oaks, 
and  blasts  them  with  the  quick  lightnings  at  his  pleasure?  The  same  Being 
who  gave  you  a  country  on  the  other  side  of  the  waters,  and  gave  ours  to  us; 
and  by  this  title  we  will  defend  it,1  said  the  warrior,  throwing  his  tomahawk 
upon  the  ground,  and  raising  the  war-sound  of  his  nation.  These  are  the 

15* 


354 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


feelings  of  subjugated  man  all  round  the  globe;  and  depend  upon  it,  nothing 
but  fear  will  control  where  it  is  vain  to  look  for  affection.” 

It  is  interesting  to  know  that  the  speech  upon  which 
Lord  Erskine  most  prided  himself,  and  the  recollection  of 
which  afforded  him  during  all  his  life  the  profoundest 
satisfaction,  was  that  delivered  on  the  trial  of  Thomas 
Paine  for  his  blasphemous  work,  “The  Age  of  Reason. 
The  speech  abounds  in  gorgeous  passages,  of  which  the 
finest  is  that  in  which  he  bursts  into  a  glowing  apostrophe 
of  the  devout,  holy  and  sublime  spirits  who  have  in  all 
ages  held  to  the  faith  of  God’s  word,  and  appeals  to  the 
testimony  of  Hale,  Locke,  Boyle,  Newton,  and  especially 
Milton,  who,  having  been  deprived  of  the  natural  light  of 
the  body,  enjoyed  the  clear  shining  of  the  celestial  day, 
which  enabled  him  “to  justify  the  ways  of  God  to  man.” 
The  speech  was  printed  by  the  Society  for  the  Suppres¬ 
sion  of  Vice,  and  had  an  immense  circulation,  “  which 
gave  me,”  he  says,  “  the  greatest  satisfaction,  as  I  would 
rather  that  all  of  my  other  speeches  were  committed  to 
the  flames,  or  in  any  manner  buried  in  oblivion,  than  that 
a  single  page  of  it  should  be  lost.” 

The  question  naturally  suggests  itself,  What  were  the 
qualities  of  Erskine’s  eloquence  which  made  it  so  pro¬ 
foundly  impressive,  and  enabled  him  in  the  outset  of  his 
career  to  place  himself  by  a  single  bound  in  advance  of 
all  his  rivals?  A  profound  lawyer  he  was  not,  nor  was 
he  well  equipped  with  the  learning  of  the  schools.  It 
was  not  to  its  rhetorical  qualities,  to  its  beauty  of  diction, 
its  richness  of  ornament  or  illustration,  its  wit,  humorr 
or  sarcasm,  that  his  oratory  owed  its  power  and  charm,, 
but  to  its  matchless  strength  and  vigor.  His  first  great 
excellence  was  his  devotion  to  his  client,  to  which  all  other 


FORENSIC  ORATORS  —  ERSKINE. 


355 


considerations  were  made  secondary.  Self  was  forgotten 
in  the  character  he  personated.  From  the  moment  the 
jury  were  sworn  he  thought  of  nothing  but  the  verdict 
till  it  was  recorded  in  his  favor.  The  earnestness,  the 
vehemence,  the  energy  of  the  advocate  were  ever  present 
throughout  his  speeches,  impressing  the  arguments  upon 
the  mind  of  the  hearer  with  a  force  which  seemed  to 
compel  conviction.  He  resisted  every  temptation  to  mere 
declamation  which  his  luxuriant  fancy  cast  in  his  path, 
and  won  his  verdicts  not  more  by  what  he  said  than  by 
what  he  refrained  from  saying.  Even  in  the  longest  of 
his  speeches  there  is  no  weakness,  no  flagging;  but  the 
same  earnestness  of  manner,  the  same  lively  statement  of 
facts,  the  same  luminous  exposition  of  argument,  from  be¬ 
ginning  to  close.  Hence  it  was  that  his  hearers  never 
yawned  or  went  to  sleep  under  his  oratory;  that  after 
the  court  and  jury  had  listened  for  days  to  witnesses  and 
other  barristers,  till  their  endurance  was  nearly  exhausted, 
he  had  but  to  address  them  for  five  minutes  when  every 
feeling  of  weariness  would  vanish,  and  they  would  hang 
spell-bound  upon  his  words.  Less  deeply  versed  in  the 
law  than  many  of  his  rivals,  he  had  a  marvellous  power 
of  availing  himself  of  the  knowledge  collected  for  his  use 
by  others.  In  his  speech  in  defense  of  the  Rights  of 
Juries,  he  is  admitted  to  have  exhibited  a  depth  of  learn¬ 
ing  that  would  have  done  honor  to  Selden  or  Hale;  and 
so  thoroughly  had  he  mastered  the  materials  of  his  brief 
which  black-letter  lawyers  had  spent  months  in  search¬ 
ing  out,  that  he  poured  forth  all  this  learning  in  his  ar¬ 
gument  before  the  court  with  the  freshness  and  precision 
of  one  who  had  spent  his  life  in  such  researches.  Grasp¬ 
ing  all  the  facts  and  principles  of  a  case,  he  never  forgot 


356 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


a  decision,  an  analogy,  or  the  pettiest  circumstance  which 
made  for  his  client;  while  his  dexterity  in  avoiding  the 
difficulties  of  his  case,  and  in  turning  to  his  own  advan¬ 
tage  the  unexpected  disclosures  which  were  sometimes 
made  in  the  course  of  a  trial,  was  positively  wonderful. 

Another  marked  peculiarity  of  Erskine’s  oratory  was 
the  keen  insight  which  it  displayed  of  the  workings  of 
the  human  mind.  He  spoke,  it  has  been 'well  said,  as  his 
clients  would  respectively  have  spoken,  if  endowed  with 
his  genius.  Mr.  Roscoe,  in  his  “Lives  of  Eminent  British 
Lawyers,”  remarks  that  there  never  was  an  advocate  who 
studied  with  nicer  discrimination  and  more  deliberate  tact 
the  feelings  of  a  jury  than  did  Erskine.  Like  every  great 
orator,  he  was  largely  dependent  upon,  and  aided  by,  that 
sympathy  of  his  hearers  which  Cicero  says  is  the  support 
and  food  of  a  public  speaker.  “  He  felt  his  ground  inch 
by  inch.”  Even  in  his  loftiest  and  most  thrilling  bursts 
of  oratory,  when  he  was  apparently  wholly  absorbed  in 
his  subject,  forgetful  of  all  things  else,  he  was  intently 
scanning  the  faces  of  the  jury,  and  watching  the  impres¬ 
sion  of  his  speech,  as  revealed  in  their  changing  looks. 
Guided  by  this  index,  he  varied  the  tone  of  his  address; 
now  rising,  as  he  saw  the  feelings  of  the  jury  rise,  into 
impassioned  displays  of  oratory, —  now  subsiding,  as  he 
saw  the  passions  of  the  jury  subside,  into  cool  and  tem¬ 
perate  argument.  His  speeches  abound  in  observations 
which  exhibit  this  remarkable  faculty.  In  his  speech  on 
the  trial  of  Lord  George  Gordon,  he  exclaimed,  “Gentle¬ 
men,  I  see  your  minds  revolt  at  such  shocking  proposi¬ 
tions!”  On  the  trial  of  Stockdale  he  said,  “Gentlemen,  I 
observe  plainly,  and  with  infinite  satisfaction,  that  you  are 
shocked  and  offended  at  my  even  supposing  it  possible 


FORENSIC  ORATORS  —  ERSKINE. 


that  you  should  pronounce  such  a  detestable  judgment.11 
Even  after  he  had  sat  down,  his  eye  was  still  on  the  jury. 

The  order  in  which  Erskine  marshalled  his  arguments 
showed  a  profound  knowledge  of  the  human  mind,  and 
contributed  greatly  to  their  effect.  Like  a  skillful  gen¬ 
eral,  he  massed  his  forces  on  one  point  of  assault.  In¬ 
stead  of  frittering  away  the  strength  of  his  reasonings, 
as  do  so  many  even  able  advocates,  by  arranging  them 
under  so  many  distinct  heads,  he  proposed  a  great  lead¬ 
ing  principle,  to  which  all  his  efforts  were  referable  and 
subsidiary, —  which  ran  through  the  whole  of  his  address, 
governing  and  elucidating  every  part.  As  the  rills  and 
streams  of  a  valley,  whether  they  run  hither  or  thither, 
northward  or  southward,  yet  meet  and  mingle  at  last  into 
one,  till  the  thousand  brooks  become  a  torrent,  so  the  ar¬ 
guments,  facts,  and  illustrations  in  one  of  these  speeches 
were  made  to  rush  together  into  a  common  channel,  and 
strike  with  tremendous  impact  on  the  mind.  As  in  at¬ 
tack  so  in  defense;  choosing  some  one  strong  position,  he 
concentrated  upon  it  all  his  powers  of  logic  and  argu¬ 
ment,  knowing  that  if  it  only  could  be  made  impregna¬ 
ble,  it  mattered  little  what  became  of  minor  points, —  the 
defense  would  infallibly^  prove  fatal  to  his  adversary’s 
case.  The  effect  of  this  method  was  not  only  to  strength¬ 
en  his  arguments,  but  greatly  to  facilitate  their  remem¬ 
brance  by  his  hearers.  If  he  sometimes  diverged  from  the 
“  grand  trunk  line  ”  of  his  reasoning,  as  he  occasionally 
did  to  relieve  the  overburdened  minds  of  his  hearers,  he 
made  even  the  digression  enforce  his  argument;  for  from 
every  excursion  he  brought  back  some  weighty  argument 
or  apt  illustration  which  gave  to  his  earnest  appeals  a 
new  and  startling  force.  While  the  matter  of  his  speeches 


358 


ORATORY  ANI)  ORATORS. 


was  thus  admirably  adapted  to  their  object,  the  manner 
was  equally  excellent,  the  style  being  the  obedient  and 
flexible  instrument  of  the  thought.  Chaste,  polished,  and 
harmonious,  it  was  at  the  same  time  full  of  energy  and 
force,  and  was  equally  free  from  mannerism  and  from  all 
straining  after  effect.  In  simile  and  metaphor  he  rarely 
indulged,  still  more  rarely  in  wit,  but  sent  his  appeals 
straight  home,  to  the  reason  rather  than  to  the  taste  and 
imagination  of  his  auditors.  The  rhythmus  of  his  sentences, 
as  in  those  of  Grattan,  was  wondrously  beautiful;  Lord 
Campbell  attributes  much  of  the  charm  of  his  eloquence  to 
“  the  exquisite  sweetness  of  his  diction,  pure,  simple,  and 
mellifluous, —  the  cadences  not  being  borrowed  from  any 
model,  nor  following  any  rule,  but  marked  by  constant 
harmony  and  variety.” 

To  all  these  attractions  must  be  added  the  charms  of 
an  elegant  person,  and  a  magnetism  in  the  eye  which  was 
almost  irresistible.  “  His  form  was  peculiarly  graceful, 
slender,  and  supple,  yet,  when  warmed  by  an  address,  quiv¬ 
ering  with  the  pent-up  excitement  of  the  occasion.  His 
features  were  regularly  beautiful,  and  susceptible  of  infi¬ 
nite  variety  of  expression,  and  at  times  lighted  up  with 
a  smile  of  surpassing  sweetness.”  Juries,  according  to 
Lord  Brougham,  have  declared  that  they  felt  it  impossi¬ 
ble  to  remove  their  looks  from  him,  when  he  had  riveted, 
and,  as  it  were,  fascinated  them  by  his  first  glance;  and 
it  used  to  be  a  common  remark  of  men  who  observed 
his  motions,  that  they  resembled  those  of  a  blood-horse ;  as 
light,  as  limber,  as  much  betokening  strength  and  speed, 
as  free  from  all  gross  superfluity  or  encumbrance. 

Of  all  the  lawyers  that  ever  lived,  Erskine  seems  to 
have  made  the  closest  approach  to  the  ideal  of  a  forensic 


FORENSIC  ORATORS  —  PINKNEY. 


359 


advocate.  In  reading  his  speeches,  and  thinking  of  the 
looks,  tones,  and  action  that  accompanied  their  delivery,  we 
are  tempted  to  ask,  in  the  language  of  Choate  concerning 
Kossuth:  “When  shall  we  be  quite  certain  again  that  the 
lyre  of  Orpheus  did  not  kindle  the  savage  native  to  a  tran¬ 
sient  discourse  of  reason, —  did  not  suspend  the  labors  and 
charm  the  pains  of  the  damned, —  did  not  lay  the  keeper 
of  the  grave  asleep,  and  win  back  Eurydice  from  the  world 
beyond  the  river,  to  the  warm,  upper  air!  ”  As  examples 
of  acute  and  powerful  reasoning,  enlivened  by  glowing 
eloquence,  these  speeches  are  among  the  grandest  of  their 
class  in  our  language;  and  a  profound  study  of  them 
would  do  much  to  correct  the  leading  vices  of  American 
oratory.  Let  the  young  attorney,  in  particular,  devote  his 
days  and  nights  to  analyzing  their  excellences,  till  he  has 
mastered  the  secret  of  their  power;  and  if,  after  a  micro¬ 
scopic  survey  of  their  qualities,  he  fails  to  “  form  to  theirs 
the  relish  of  his  soul,”«  and  can  still  delight  in  “  spread- 
eagleism,”  we  will  agree  that  his  faults  are  incorrigible, 
and  bid  him,  in  the  words  of  Horace,  “  stultum  esse 
libentery 

America  has  produced  a  great  number  of  forensic  ora¬ 
tors,  and  among  them  few  have  left  so  great  a  name  as 
William  Pinkney,  of  Maryland.  Unfortunately  the  fame 
of  his  eloquence  rests  chiefly  on  tradition,  none  of  his  prin¬ 
cipal  sjieeches  having  been  preserved.  He  was  enthusi¬ 
astically  fond  of  his  profession,  and,  beyond  almost  all  of 
his  contemporaries,  ambitious  of  its  triumphs.  Emulation 
and  the  love  of  distinction,  even  more  than  his  keen  appe¬ 
tite  for  knowledge,  were  the  motives  that  urged  him  on 
in  his  indefatigable  efforts  at  self-improvement,  and  they 


360 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


allowed  him  no  rest  while  it  was  possible  to  increase  his 
intellectual  stores.  “  I  never  heard  him  allow,”  said  a 
friend  of  his,  “  that  any  man  was  his  superior  in  any¬ 
thing,  .  .  .  especially  in  oratory,  on  which  his  great  am¬ 
bition  rested.”  Even  when  serving  his  country  as  a  dip¬ 
lomatist  in  Europe,  he  applied  himself  indefatigably  to 
his  law  studies.  All  other  pursuits,  the  pleasures  of  soci¬ 
ety,  and  even  the  repose  which  nature  demands,  were 
sacrificed  to  this  engrossing  object.  Even  after  he  had 
accumulated  a  vast  stock  of  legal  knowledge,  he  ap¬ 
proached  every  new  cause  with  the  ardor  and  zeal  of 
one  who  had  still  his  reputation  to  earn.  “  He  was  never 
satisfied,”  says  his  biographer,  “  with  exploring  its  facts, 
and  all  the  technical  learning  which  it  involved.”  In 
preparing  his  speeches,  whether  for  the  forum  or  the 
Senate,  he  was  equally  unsparing  of  toil.  All  his  life 
he  declaimed  much  in  private,  and  he  carefully  premedi¬ 
tated,  not  only  the  general  order  of  his  speeches,  and  the 
topics  of  illustration,  but  also  the  rhetorical  embellish¬ 
ments,  which  last  he  sometimes  wrote  out  beforehand. 
To  supply  himself  with  these,  he  noted  in  his  reading 
every  allusion  or  image  that  could  be  turned  to  use.  He 
piqued  himself  on  his  critical  knowledge  of  the  English 
language,  of  whose  structure  and  vocabulary  he  had  a 
minute  knowledge,  if  not  a  thorough  mastery.  Being 
mortified,  when  in  England,  by  his  inability  to  answer 
some  question  in  classical  literature,  he  resumed  his  clas¬ 
sical  studies,  and  put  himself  under  an  instructor  to 
acquire  a  better  knowledge  of  ancient  literature. 

In  what  lay  the  charm  of  his  oratory,  it  is  not  easy  to 
say.  The  Supreme  Court  room  at  Washington  was  always 
crowded  when  he  was  about  to  speak,  and  however  dry 


FORENSIC  ORATORS — PINKNEY. 


361 


the  theme,  or  abstruse  his  arguments,  he  held  the  un¬ 
flagging  attention  of  his  hearers  till  he  sat  down.  Much 
of  the  popular  interest  in  his  speaking  must  have  been 
due  to  the  energy  and  earnestness  of  his  manner,  to  his 
rare  command  of  beautiful  and  expressive  diction,  and  to 
the  flowers  of  fancy  with  which  he  embellished  the  most 
arid  and  unpromising  themes.  Rufus  Choate  regarded 
him  as  the  most  consummate  master  of  a  manly  and 
exuberant  spoken  English  that  he  ever  heard,  and  he  had 
him  always  in  view  as  a  model  for  imitation.  No  Ameri¬ 
can  advocate  ever  bestowed  more  pains  upon  his  manner. 
He  practiced  speaking  before  a  mirror,  and  all  his  atti¬ 
tudes,  gestures,  facial  expressions,  etc.,  were  apparently 
studied  beforehand,  to  the  minutest  action.  When  about 
to  argue  a  case,  he  was  nervous  and  restless,  burning 
with  a  kind  of  impatient  rage  for  the  fray.  Professor 
Ticknor,  who  saw  him  once  in  the  Supreme  Court,  as  he 
was  waiting  to  begin  an  argument,  says  that  he  showed 
by  frequently  moving  his  seat,  and  by  the  convulsive 
twitches  of  his  face,  how  anxious  he  was  to  come  to  the 
conflict.  “At  last  the  judges  ceased  to  read,  and  he 
sprang  into  the  arena  like  a  lion  who  had  been  loosed 
by  his  keepers  on  the  gladiator  who  awaited  him.”  His 
style  of  elocution  was  evidently  borrowed  from  no  one. 
Beginning  with  some  timidity,  and  speaking  in  low  and 
indistinct  murmurs,  as  if  he  were  conjuring  up  the  spirit 
of  his  elocution  by  muttered  incantations,  he  shook  off 
his  embarrassment  as  he  advanced,  and,  raising  his  voice 
to  a  higher  and  higher  key,  was  soon  borne  along  on  the 
tide  of  an  impetuous  and  overwhelming  oratory.  Both  in 
his  senatorial  and  his  forensic  speeches,  he  “  spoke  with 

great  vehemence,  rushing  from  thought  to  thought  with 
16 


362 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


a  sort  of  ferocity;  his  eye  fiery,  his  nostrils  distended,  and 
his  lips  covered  with  froth,  which  he  would  wipe  away.” 
His  gesture  was  also  peculiar.  His  right  arm  was  not 
brandished  in  the  usual  manner,  but  “  brought  in  frequent 
sweeps  along  his  side;  his  right  foot  advanced,  and  his 
body  alternately  thrown  back  as  if  about  to  spring,  and 
heaved  forward  again,  as  if  in  act  to  strike  down  his 
adversary;  big  drops  of  sweat  all  the  while  coursing  along 
their  channels  from  his  forehead." 

It  is  evident,  from  the  accounts  even  of  his  admirers, 
that  his  elocution  was  too  vehement  and  declamatory  for 
legal  discussions,  if  not  for  jury  addresses,  as  it  is  evident, 
also,  that  his  rhetoric  was  too  stilted  and  overwrought  to 
merit  the  highest  praise.  We  are  told  by  his  biographer, 
that  Johnson  and  Gibbon  were  his  favorite  English  prose- 
writers  ;  and  to  his  admiration  for  their  elaborate,  pompous, 
and  somewhat  frigid  style,  which  he  thought  the  proper 
models  for  an  orator,  we  may  attribute  in  part  the  vices 
of  his  diction.  By  a  strange  paradox,  with  all  his  vehe¬ 
mence  there  was  a  lack  of  real  fire  and  fervor;  and  while 
his  warmth,  if  it  could  be  called  such,  was  that  of  the 
rhetorician,  his  figures,  which  were  sometimes  far-fetched 
and  over-fanciful,  “  seemed  cold,  and  rather  embroidered 
on  the  web  of  his  discourse  than  woven  into  it."  Even  in 
the  loftiest  and  most  impassioned  climax  of  his  impetuous 
speech,  he  seemed  never  so  absorbed  in  his  theme  as  to 
be  wholly  self-forgetful.  As  with  the  orator  mentioned 
by  Cicero,  who,  metuens  ne  vitiosum ,  etiam  verutn  sanguinem 
deperdebat,  his  anxiety  to  appear  well  was  self-defeating; 
and  it  was  not  till  at  a  late  period  in  his  life,  that  he 
learned  to  press  on  with  all  his  energies  to  the  goal,  with¬ 
out  stopping  to  pick  up  the  flowers  that  tempted  him  on 


FORENSIC  ORATORS  —  PINKNEY. 


363 


the  way.  It  was  in  the  discussion,  before  the  Supreme 
Court,  of  questions  relating  to  the  interpretation  of  the 
federal  constitution  and  to  international  law,  that  his 
great  abilities  appeared  to  the  most  signal  advantage.  His 
arguments  before  that  “  more  than  Amphictyonic  Council  ” 
were  generally  characterized  by  an  earnestness,  gravity, 
eloquence,  and  force  of  reasoning,  as  well  as  a*  depth  of 
learning,  which  were  fully  proportioned  to  the  magnitude 
of  the  occasion,  and  which  convinced  all  who  heard  him 
that  he  gave  expression  not  merely  to  the  sentiments  of 
the  hired  advocate,  but  also  to  those  of  the  patriot.  He 
was  preeminently  a  legal  logician,  having,  as  Rufus  Choate 
truly  said,  “  as  fine  a  legal  head  as  ever  was  grown  in 
America.” 

In  appearance  Pinkney  was  robust,  square-shouldered, 
and  firm-set.  He  had  a  somewhat  low  forehead,  and  an 
oval  head;  with  eyes  that  were  changeful  in  expression, 
but  quickly  lighted  up  by  excitement.  The  habitual  ex¬ 
pression  of  his  face  was  mirthful,  yet  it  was  deeply  fur¬ 
rowed  with  the  lines  of  thought.  The  haughtiness  of  his 
disposition,  which,  however,  was  shown  to  his  peers, 
never  to  his  inferiors,  was  manifested  in  his  carriage,  of 
which  it  has  been  said  that  it  was  more  than  erect, —  it 
might  be  called  perpendicular.  His  port  at  the  bar  to¬ 
ward  his  equals  was  antagonistic  and  defiant.  Always 
alert  and  guarded,  he  granted  no  favors,  and  he  asked 
none.  “  His  courtesy  in  this  arena  was  a  mere  formula, 
and  rather  suggested  conflict  than  avoided  it.”  Few  per¬ 
sons  of  equal  ability  have  been  so  attentive  to  the  min¬ 
utest  details  of  their  personal  appearance.  He  changed 
his  toilet  twice  a  day,  and  was  always  elaborately  dressed, 
without  regard  to  fashion,  in  the  style  which  he  deemed 


364 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


best  fitted  to  show  off  his  fine  person.  His  nicely  brushed 
blue  coat,  white  waistcoat  with  gold  buttons,  snowy-white 
linen,  gold  studs,  boots  shining  with  the  highest  polish,  lit¬ 
tle  cane  twirling  in  his  saffron- gloved  fingers,  with  his  air 
of  ease,  abandon ,  and  “devil-may-care  jauntiness, ”  suggest¬ 
ed  a  Brummel  or  a  Beau  Nash  rather  than  the  giant  of 
the  American  bar.  Not  unfrequently,  we  are  told,  “  he 
carried  his  whole  array  of  dandyism  into  court,  and  opened 
his  harangue  with  all  his  butterfly  costume  intact,  .  .  . 
fastidiously  dressed  at  every  point.”  It  is  even  said  that 
he  wore  corsets  to  check  his  growing  corpulence,  used 
cosmetics  to  smooth  the  roughnesses  of  his  face,  and  rub¬ 
bed  his  body  with  ointment  to  stimulate  his  mental  facul¬ 
ties.  Probably  no  advocate  that  ever  lived, —  certainly  no 
great  advocate, —  ever  betrayed  more  fondness  for  theat¬ 
rical  effects.  It  was  a  common  trick  of  his,  when  called 
upon  to  argue  a  great  cause,  to  plead  a  want  of  prepara¬ 
tion,  though  he  had  been  toiling  night  and  day  for  weeks 
upon  his  argument.  Sometimes  he  would  show  himself 
at  a  fashionable  party  or  at  a  public  meeting,  the  night 
before  he  was  to  speak  in  court,  so  as  to  give  the  im¬ 
pression  that  his  logic  and  eloquence  were  off-hand,  and 
would  then  go  home  and  spend  the  whole  night  in  elab¬ 
orating  “  impromptu  ”  bursts  for  the  morrow.  In  spite  of 
all  this  foppishness  and  affectation,  which  were  the  more 
unworthy  of  him  as  he  did  not  need  any  such  deceptive 
recommendations,  he  was  one  of  the  giants  of  the  bar  and 
the  senate;  and  “no  man,”  says  Wirt,  “dared  to  grapple 
with  him  without  the  most  perfect  preparation,  and  the 
full  possession  of  all  his  strength.” 

We  have  a  good  specimen  of  Pinkney’s  peculiar  elo¬ 
quence  in  his  argument  on  the  famous  case  of  the  Ne- 


FORENSIC  ORATORS  —  CHOATE. 


365 


reide ,  in  which  arose  the  novel  question  of  international 
law,  whether  a  neutral  could  lawfully  lade  his  goods  on 
an  armed  enemy’s  vessel. 

“  The  idea  is  formed  by  a  union  of  the  most  repulsive  ingredients.  It 
exists  by  an  unexampled  reconciliation  of  mortal  antipathies.  It  exhibits  such 
a  rare  discordia  rerum,  such  a  stupendous  society  of  jarring  elements,  or  (to 
use  an  expression  of  Tacitus)  of  res  insociabiles ,  that  it  throws  into  the  shade 
the  wildest  fictions  of  poetry.  I  entreat  your  Honors  to  endeavor  a  personifi¬ 
cation  of  this  motley  notion;  and  to  forgive  me  for  presuming  to  intimate 
that,  if  after  you  have  achieved  it,  you  pronounce  the  notion  to  be  correct, 
you  will  have  gone  a  great  way  to  prepare  us,  by  the  authority  of  your  opin¬ 
ion,  to  receive,  as  credible  history,  the  worst  parts  of  the  mythology  of  the 
Pagan  world.  The  Centaur  and  the  Proteus  of  antiquity  will  be  fabulous  no 
longer.  The  prosopopoeia,  to  which  I  invite  you,  is  scarcely,  indeed,  within 
the  power  of  fancy,  even  in  her  most  riotous  and  capricious  mood,  when  she 
is  best  able  and  most  disposed  to  force  incompatibilities  into  fleeting  and 
shadowy  combination ;  but,  if  you  can  accomplish  it,  will  give  you  something 
like  the  kid  and  the  lion,  the  lamb  and  the  tiger  portentously  incorporated, 
with  ferocity  and  meekness  coexistent  in  the  result,  and  equal  as  motives  of 
action.  It  will  give  you  a  modern  Amazon,  more  strangely  constituted  than 
those  with  whom  ancient  fable  peopled  the  borders  of  the  Thermidon, —  her 
voice  compounded  of  the  tremendous  shout  of  the  Minerva  of  Homer  and  the 
gentle  accents  of  an  Arcadian  shepherdess,  with  all  the  faculties  and  inclina¬ 
tions  of  turbulent  and  masculine  War,  and  all  the  retiring  modesty  of  virgin 
Peace.  We  shall  have,  in  one  personage,  the  pharetrata  Camilla  of  the  iEneid, 
and  the  Peneian  maid  of  the  Metamorphosis.  We  shall  have  Neutrality,  soft 
and  gentle,  and  defenseless  in  herself,  yet  clad  in  the  panoply  of  her  warlike 
neighbors,  with  the  frown  of  defiance  upon  her  brow,  and  the  smile  of  con¬ 
ciliation  upon  her  lip, —  with  the  spear  of  Achilles  in  one  hand,  and  a  lying 
protestation  of  innocence  and  helplessness  unfolded  in  the  other.  Nay,  if  I 
may  be  allowed  so  bold  a  figure  in  a  mere  legal  discussion,  we  shall  have  the 
branch  of  olive  entwined  around  the  bolt  of  Jove,  and  Neutrality  in  the  act 
of  hurling  the  latter  under  the  deceitful  cover  of  the  former.” 


Of  the  eloquence  of  Rufus  Choate, —  America’s  great¬ 
est  forensic  advocate,  William  Pinkney  not  excepted, —  one 
should  have  a  genius  as  rare  and  peculiar  as  that  of 
Choate  himself,  to  give  an  adequate  description.  A  more 
unique  and  original,  not  to  say  odd  and  eccentric,  yet  at  the 
same  time  powerful  and  effective  speaker,  never  moulded 
a  jury  at  his  will.  Neither  in  his  looks,  action,  language, 
or  style  of  argumentation,  did  he  copy  from  or  resemble 


366 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


any  other  advocate,  dead  or  living.  It  was  our  good  for¬ 
tune  in  1838,  and  again  in  1847-1856,  to  hear  him  both 
in  the  courts  and  the  lecture-room;  yet  never  have  we 
been  more  impressed  with  the  impotence  of  language 
than  when  trying  “  to  wreak  upon  expression  ”  the  im¬ 
pressions  made  upon  us  by  his  extraordinary  looks  and 
speech.  His  tall,  robust,  erect  frame;  his  rolling,  swaying 
gait,  and  bilious,  coffee-colored,  oriental  complexion;  his 
haggard,  deeply  furrowed  face;  his  large,  dark,  lustrous 
eyes,  lit  at  times  with  an  unearthly  glare,  and  almost 
startling  one  with  their  burning  intensity  of  expression; 
his  hair,  luxuriant,  curling,  and  black  as  the  raven's;  his 
musical  voice,  now  gentle  and  persuasive,  now  vehement 
and  ringing;  his  slouching  garments  which  seemed  as  if 
flung  upon  him,  including  a  cravat  which  was  said  “  to 
meet  in  an  indescribable  knot  that  looked  like  the  fortu¬ 
itous  concurrence  of  original  atoms  ” ;  all  these  it  is  easy 
to  portray  singly,  but  of  the  “  full  force  and  joint  result 
of  all  ”  they  give  no  more  idea  than  an  alphabet  gives 
of  a  poem.  But  when  we  add  to  these  details,  his  appear¬ 
ance  in  the  grand  climacteric  moments,  when  he  was  in  the 
full  swing  of  his  impetuous  oratory,  and  so  absorbed  in 
his  theme  and  isolated  from  his  surroundings  as  to  be  in 
“  a  sort  of  trance  state,”  the  difficulty  of  photographing 
his  looks  and  manner  amounts  to  an  impossibility.  The 
vehemence  with  which  he  swept  on  in  his  argument,  like 
a  lightning-express  train,  pouring  out  his  words  so  fast 
that  it  was  said  that,  if  the  magnetic  telegraph  were  af¬ 
fixed  to  his  mouth,  they  would  heap  upon  the  wires,  yet, 
all  the  while,  with  the  coolest  method  in  his  fury,  scan¬ 
ning  every  look  and  motion  of  the  judge  and  jury;  the 
ever-changing  tones  of  his  voice,  ranging  through  all  the 


FORENSIC  ORATORS  —  CHOATE. 


367 


notes  in  the  scale,  from  the  lowest  audible  whisper  to  a 
positive  scream;  the  tremulous  fingers,  long  and  bony, 
which  he  would  run  through  his  curling  locks,  that  dripped 
with  perspiration;  the  clinched  fists,  which  he  would  now 
swing  in  the  air,  and  now  shake  at  his  opponent’s  face; 
the  convulsive  jerks  of  the  body  with  which  he  would 
seem  to  shake  every  bone  in  its  socket;  the  triumphant 
manner  in  which,  after  a  series  of  burning  sentences,  he 
would  straighten  up  his  quivering  body,  throw  his  head 
back,  and  draw  in  a  full  volume  of  breath  through  his 
nostrils  with  a  snuffling  that  was  heard  over  the  whole 
court-room ;  his  strange  habit  of  doffing  and  donning  three 
or  four  different-colored  overcoats,  in  the  progress  of  his 
speech,  according  to  the  degree  in  which  he  perspired; 
his  weird  wit  and  arch  pleasantry;  his  grotesque  exag¬ 
geration;  his  multiplication  of  adjectives,  as  when  he 
spoke  of  a  harness  as  “  a  safe,  sound,  substantial,  suitable, 
second-rate,  second-hand  harness,”  or  spoke  of  the  Greek 
mind  as  “  subtle,  mysterious,  plastic,  apprehensive,  compre¬ 
hensive,  available,”  (a  dissertation  in  six  words);  his  laby¬ 
rinthine  sentences,  his  cumulative  logic  by  which  one  idea, 
image,  or  argument,  was  piled  upon  another,  so  as  to  make 
up  an  overwhelming  mass;  his  gorgeous,  many-colored 
rhetoric, —  all  together  simply  beggar  description. 

Probably  no  orator  ever  lived  who  threw  himself  with 
more  energy  and  utter  abandonment  into  the  advocacy 
of  a  cause.  When  addressing  a  jury,  his  whole  frame 
was  charged  with  electricity,  and  literally  quivered  with 
emotion.  The  perspiration  stood  in  drops  even  upon  the 
hairs  of  his  head;  and  he  reminded  one  of  the  pythoness 
upon  her  tripod.  Sometimes  he  was  so  racked  and  ex¬ 
hausted  by  a  forensic  speech  that  he  could  hardly  stagger, 


368 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


without  aid,  to  his  carriage;  and  often,  though  he  had  an 
iron  frame,  he  would  be  tormented  with  sick  headache, 
to  which  he  was  all  his  life  a  martyr,  for  several  days 
afterward.  In  addressing  the  bench,  on  the  other  hand, 
he  was  so  quiet  and  subdued  in  manner  as  to  appear 
like  another  being.  Probably  there  never  was  an  advo¬ 
cate  in  whose  brain  more  opposite  elements  were  united. 
At  one  moment  he  burns  with  a  tropical  heat,  the  next 
he  is  as  cool  as  an  iceberg.  Keenly  sensitive  to  the  slight¬ 
est  impressions,  he  has  as  perfect  a  self-control  as  a  vet¬ 
eran  swordsman.  Hurrying  other  men  along  in  a  whirl¬ 
wind  of  passionate  declamation,  he  holds  his  own  feelings 
all  the  while  in  check  with  as  complete  a  mastery  as  if, 
like  drilled  and  veteran  troops,  they  had  been  taught  to 
be  “  impetuous  by  rule.”  Mr.  E.  P.  Whipple  acutely  ob¬ 
serves  that  it  is  one  of  Choate’s  peculiarities  that  he  com¬ 
bines  a  conservative  intellect  with  a  radical  sensibility, 
—  that  he  is  a  kind  of  Mirabeau-Peel;  and  this  is  doubt¬ 
less  the  happiest  solution  of  the  strange  anomalies  and 
puzzling  contradictions  in  his  character.  He  is  one  of 
the  few  men  who  have  triumphantly  achieved  that  feat 
which,  Emerson  once  said  in  the  “  Dial,”  is  the  tragedy 
of  genius, —  attempting  to  drive  along  the  ecliptic  with 
one  horse  of  the  heavens  and  one  horse  of  the  earth, — 
the  result  of  which  is  almost  always  discord  and  ruin 
and  downfall  to  chariot  and  charioteer.  With  an  imag¬ 
ination  of  intense  vividness  and  preternatural  activity, 
Choate  was  as  practical  as  the  most  sordid  capitalist  that 
ever  became  an  “  incarnation  of  fat  dividends.” 

Beginning  his  legal  career  at  Danvers  and  Salem,  Mass., 
chiefly  with  the  practice  of  criminal  law,  he  rose  rapidly 
in  his  profession,  till  he  had  no  superior  in  the  state  or 


FORENSIC  ORATORS  —  CHOATE. 


369 


nation.  It  is  said  that  the  Irish  advocate,  Plunket,  once 
defended  a  horse-stealer  in  a  country  town  of  his  circuit 
with  such  consummate  tact  that  all  the  thieves  in  the 
court-room  were  in  an  ecstasy  of  delight,  and  one  of  them, 
unable  to  control  his  admiration,  burst  out  into  an  excla¬ 
mation,  “Long  life  to  you,  Plunket!  The  first  horse  I 
steal,  boys,  by  Jekers,  I'll  have  Plunket!"  The  criminals 
of  Essex  county  must  have  cherished  a  similar  enthusiastic 
admiration  for  Choate,  for  his  success  in  clearing  them 
was  such  that  the  attorney-general  declared  that  the  days 
of  the  Salem  witchcraft  had  returned  again.  When  Choate 
moved  to  Boston,  all  the  veteran  practitioners  of  the  bar 
looked  askance  and  shook  their  double  chins  at  him,  say¬ 
ing  of  his  unique  style  of  speaking,  as  did  Jeffrey  of 
Wordsworth’s  poetry,  “This  will  never  do”;  the  public, 
too,  laughed  at  his  vehemence  of  gesture  and  droll  exag¬ 
geration  ;  but  when  it  was  found  that  there  was  “  a  meth¬ 
od  in  his  madness,” — that  all  these  seeming  oddities  were 
simply  means  to  an  end, —  that  he  was  aiming  to  keep 
the  jurors’  attention  alive,  and  that  beneath  the  roses 
and  flowers  there  was  hidden  a  blade  of  Damascus  steel, 
—  above  all,  when  they  found  that  by  some  inexplicable 
witchcraft  of  manner  or  sorcery  of  speech  he  won  ver¬ 
dict  after  verdict  which  their  “  coldly  correct  and  critically 
dull”  addresses  failed  to  extort, —  they  changed  their  tone. 
“  If  I  live,”  he  wrote  one  day  in  his  diary,  “  all  the  block¬ 
heads  which  are  shaken  at  certain  mental  peculiarities 
shall  know  and  feel  a  lawyer,  a  reasoner,  and  a  man  of 
business”;  and  live  he  did  to  confound  all  gainsayers,  and 
make  “  those  who  came  to  scoff  remain  ”  to  praise. 

In  his  happiest  days,  to  hear  him  argue  a  cause  to  a 
jury  was  regarded  even  by  the  most  cultivated  critics  of 


370 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


the  American  Athens  as  an  intellectual  feast.  The  flowers 
of  fancy  which  he  scattered  along  the  pathway  of  his  rapid 
and  vivid  speech;  the  profusion  of  analogies,  real  and  fan¬ 
ciful,  with  which  his  teeming  fancy  fortified  every  propo¬ 
sition,  and  illustrated  every  theme;  the  choice,  felicitous, 
and  often  recondite  language  gathered  from  books  and  the 
market-place;  the  charming  literary,  biographic,  and  his¬ 
toric  allusions;  the  ingenious  and  apt  illustrations;  the 
sudden  flashes  of  wit;  the  electric  bursts  of  humor;  the 
“quick,  trampling  interrogations  with  which  he  assailed  an 
antagonist  proposition,  and  gave  to  his  argument  an  almost 
muscular  power”;  the  rapid  transition  from  pleasantry  to 
pathos,  from  subtle  analysis  and  searching  logic  to  grand 
outbursts  of  sentiment,  which  uplifted  the  souls  of  his 
hearers,  and  invested  them  for  the  moment  with  a  portion 
of  the  orator’s  own  greatness, —  all  these  were  elements 
in  the  composition  of  that  complex  and  indescribable  elo¬ 
quence  whose  spell  was  felt  equally  by  judge  and  juror, 
by  scholar  and  clown,  and  to  which  no  one  could  listen 
unmoved  unless  he  was  either  “  a  yahoo  or  a  beatified  in¬ 
telligence.”  It  mattered  little  how  obscure  the  arena  or 
how  small  the  circle  of  hearers,  in  which  and  to  whom  he 
spoke.  In  the  office  of  a  justice  of  the  peace,  or  before 
two  or  three  referees  in  the  hall  of  a  country  tavern,  he 
would  squander  the  same  treasures  of  learning,  the  same 
affluence  of  diction,  the  same  felicity  of  allusion,  the  same 
frenzy  of  feeling,  as  when  he  spoke  before  the  most  learned 
and  august  tribunal  or  the  most  lettered  audience. 

It  has  been  justly  said  that  though  his  style  lacked 
simplicity,  and  suggested  by  its  richness  and  luxuriance 
an  oriental  origin,  yet  it  was  wonderfully  well  adapted  to 
its  purpose,  and  never  failed  to  be  poetic  and  suggestive. 


FORENSIC  ORATORS  —  CHOATE.  371 

One  who  was  apparently  a  frequent  listener  to  his  en¬ 
chanting  rhetoric,  speaks  of  his  discoursing  to  a  jury  some¬ 
times  “  in  tones  that  linger  on  the  memory  like  the  part¬ 
ing  sound  of  a  cathedral  bell,  or  the  dying  note  of  an 
organ.  Thrilling  it  can  be  as  a  fife,  but  it  has  often  a 
plaintive  cadence,  as  though  his  soul  mourned,  amid  the 
loud  and  angry  tumults  of  the  forum,  for  the  quiet  grove 
of  the  academy,  or  in  these  times  sighed  at  the  thought 
of  those  charms  and  virtues  which  we  dare  conceive  in 
boyhood,  and  pursue  as  men, —  the  unreached  paradise  of 
our  despair.”  And  yet,  strange  to  say,  with  all  his  poetry 
and  pathos,  his  soarings  of  fancy  and  his  flights  of  rhet¬ 
oric,  it  was  not  in  these  that  lay  his  principal  power. 
Though  he  had,  as  Edward  Everett  said,  “  an  imagination 
that  rose  with  easy  wing  to  the  highest  invention  of  in¬ 
vention,”  yet  it  was  mainly  his  dialectic  skill  that  won 
his  victories.  In  a  dry  law-argument,  hinging  on  purely 
technical  points,  he  could  be,  Judge  Sprague  declared, 
“  learned,  logical,  and  profound,  or  exquisitely  refined  and 
subtle,”  as  the  occasion  required.  In  his  arguments,  not 
only  was  each  topic  presented  in  all  its  force,  but  they 
were  all  arranged  and  dovetailed  with  the  most  consum¬ 
mate  skill  so  as  to  furnish  a  mutual  support. 

During  a  trial,  nothing,  in  his  most  passionate  moments, 
escaped  his  eagle-eyed  vigilance.  One  day  a  lady,  in  go¬ 
ing  out,  made  some  noise  by  the  rustling  of  her  silk  dress. 
Being  asked  if  he  noticed  it,  Mr.  Choate  said:  “Notice  it! 
I  thought  forty  battalions  were  moving!”  While  he  was 
as  quick  as  a  hawk  to  detect  a  fallacy,  he  could  be  as  slow 
as  a  ferret  in  pursuing  a  sophism  through  all  its  mazes 
and  sinuosities.  No  lawyer,  when  there  was  a  hitch  or  a 
blot  in  his  cause,  could  keep  it  more  dexterously  out  of 


372 


ORATORY  AXD  ORATORS. 


view,  or  hurry  it  more  trippingly  over;  and  yet,  if  the 
blot  was  on  the  other  side,  he  had  the  eye  of  a  lynx  and 
the  scent  of  a  hound  to  detect  and  run  down  his  game. 
With  all  his  profusion  of  language,  every  word  was  used 
with  discriminating  accuracy,  and  had  its  precise  shade 
of  meaning,  which  made  it  necessary  to  the  picture  he 
drew.  Though  he  spoke  at  times  in  thunder  tones,  yet 
his  most  telling  points  were  often  made  in  a  low  conver¬ 
sational  voice.  •  In  a  cause  in  which  we  were  a  witness, 
wishing  to  call  attention  to  a  significant  point  in  the  tes¬ 
timony,  he  stepped  in  front  of  the  foreman,  and  said  in 
low  fireside  tones:  “About  this,  time,  gentlemen  of  the 

jury,  you  will  remember  that  this  S - was  seen  taking 

the  cars  for  K-e-e-n-e,  N-e-w  H-a-m-p-s-h-i-r-e.  Stick  a 
pin  there,  Mr.  Foreman."  Afterward,  in  denouncing  the 
same  person,  whom  he  justly  suspected  to  be  the  real 
plaintiff  in  the  case,  he  called  the  attention  of  the  jury 
to  “  the  spectacle  of  a  witness  burning  and  freezing  with 
all  the  feelings  of  a  client,"  and  again  thundered  out : 
“  When  he  passed  this  check  to  my  clients,  he  knew ,  gen¬ 
tlemen,  that  he  was  a  bankrupt;  he  knew  that  he  was  a 
drowning  man  catching  at  straws;  he  knew  that  he  was 
not  worth  the  shirt  he  stood  in. —  that,  had  he  died  at 
that  moment,  his  estate  would  not  have  yielded  enough 
to  defray  his  funeral  charges .” 

No  advocate  ever  scanned  more  watchfully  the  faces  of 
his  hearers  while  speaking.  By  long  practice  he  had 
learned  to  read  their  sentiments  as  readily  as  if  their 
hearts  had  been  throbbing  in  glass  cases.  In  one  jury 
address  of  five  hours,  he  hurled  his  oratorical  artillery  for 

t 

three  of  them  at  the  hard-headed  foreman,  upon  whom  all 
his  bolts  seemed  to  be  spent  in  vain.  At  last,  the  iron 


FORENSIC  ORATORS  —  CHOATE. 


373 


countenance  relaxed,  the  strong  eyes  moistened,  and  Choate 
was  once  more  master  of  the  situation.  Another  of  his 
peculiarities  was  the  “  fertility  of  his  mind  in  possibilities 
and  plausibilities,”  his  infinity  of  resources  in  an  unex¬ 
pected  emergency,  or  sudden  turn  of  a  cause, —  the  cool¬ 
ness,  tact,  and  facility  with  which,  like  Napoleon  at  Rivoli, 
after  his  lines  had  been  forced  at  all  points,  and  the  day 
had  apparently  gone  hopelessly  against  him,  he  would 
change  his  front,  rearrange  his  order  of  battle,  and,  with 
the  air  and  bearing  of  one  who  scents  a  coming  tri- 
umph,  prepare  for  a  fresh  and  fiercer  onslaught  on  his 
astonished  antagonist. 

In  his  literary  discourses,  on  academic  and  other  occa¬ 
sions,  Mr.  Choate’s  style  differed  materially  from  his  style 
in  the  court-room.  One  of  its  most  marked  peculiarities 
was  the  enormous  length  and  complexity  of  the  sentences, 
some  of  which  had  as  many  joints  as  a  boa-constrictor. 
The  interminable  journey  on  which  he  sometimes  drove 
his  “substantive  and  six”  before  he  overtook  the  verb  that 
completed  the  sense  and  the  sentence,  could  only  be  paral¬ 
leled  by  the  wanderings  of  Japhet  in  search  of  his  father, 
or  the  never-ending  travels  of  the  Wandering  Jew.  Some¬ 
times,  in  listening  to  him,  one  thought  of  Satan’s  flight 
through  chaos,  as  depicted  in  “Paradise  Lost”: 

“  O’er  bog  or  steep,  through  straight,  rough,  dense,  or  rare, 

With  head,  hands,  wings,  or  feet,  pursues  his  way, 

And  swims  or  sinks,  or  wades  or  creeps,  or  flies.” 

S 

Reporters  complained  bitterly  of  the  difficulty  of  straight¬ 
ening  out  his  sentences.  You  set  out  with  him,  they  said, 
in  hope  and  trust,  and  get  on  well  over  flowery  meadows, 
and  through  mountains  and  thunder-storms,  feeling  several 
shocks  of  earthquake,  and  seeing  two  or  three  volcanic 


374 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


eruptions;  but  by  the  time  he  is  ready  to  wind  up  the 
journey,  you  are  so  lost  in  the  mazes  of  his  diction,  and 
so  spell-bound  by  the  grandeur  and  glory  of  his  triumphal 
progress,  that  you  have  lost  all  sight  of  the  starting-point; 
and,  even  if  you  can  catch  a  faint  glimpse  of  it,  cannot 
distinguish  the  beginning  from  the  middle,  nor  the  middle 
from  the  end.  There  is  a  mythical  story  of  a  stenographic 
reporter,  which,  perhaps,  only  burlesques  an  actual  fact, 
that  having  been  so  magnetized  by  the  orator  on  one 
occasion  that  he  dropped  his  pencil,  and  simply  listened 
in  mute  astonishment,  he  excused  his  neglect  by  saying, 
“Who  can  report  chain-lightning?” 

It  must  not  be  supposed,  however,  that  in  his  literary 
and  political  addresses  he  dealt  exclusively  in  these  ele¬ 
phantine  sentences.  As  Mr.  Everett  happily  says,  “  his 
style  is  as  often  marked  by  a  pregnant  brevity  as  by  a 
sonorous  amplitude.  He  is  sometimes  satisfied  in  concise, 
epigrammatic  clauses,  to  skirmish  with  his  light  troops 
and  to  drive  in  the  enemy’s  outposts.  It  is  only  on  fit¬ 
ting  occasions,  when  great  principles  are  to  be  vindicated 
and  solemn  truths  told;  when  some  moral  or  political 
Waterloo  or  Solferino  is  to  be  fought,  that  he  puts  on 
the  entire  panoply  of  his  gorgeous  rhetoric.  It  is  then 
that  his  majestic  sentences  swell  to  the  dimensions  of  his 
thought;  that  you  hear  afar  off  the  awful  roar  of  his 
rifled  ordnance;  and  when  he  has  stormed  the  heights 
and  broken  the  centre,  and  trampled  the  squares,  and 
turned  the  staggering  wings  of  the  adversary,  that  he 
sounds  his  imperial  clarion  along  the  whole  line  of  battle, 
and  moves  forward  with  all  his  thoughts  in  one  over¬ 
whelming  charge.” 

Dryden  says  of  Virgil,  that  such  is  the  magic  of  his 


FORENSIC  ORATORS  —  CHOATE. 


375 


style  that  he  makes  even  his  husbandmen  toss  the  dung 
with  an  air  of  dignity.  In  like  manner  the  imagination 
of  Choate  transfigured  the  meanest  things,  and  depicted 
the  commonest  acts  in  words  that  haunt  the  memory. 
Thus,  in  speaking  of  the  skipper  of  a  vessel,  who  was 
looking  into  a  law-book  while  passing  the  island  of  St. 
Helena,  he  said:  “Such  were  his  meditations  as  the  in¬ 
visible  currents  of  the  ocean  bore  him  by  the  grave  of 
Napoleon.”  Of  a  client  whom  a  witness  found  crying,  and 
who,  when  asked  what  was  the  matter,  replied,  “  I’m  afraid 
I’ve  run  against  a  snag,”  Choate  said:  “  Such  were  his  feel¬ 
ings  and  such  his  actions  down  to  that  fatal  Friday  night, 
when,  at  ten  o’clock,  in  that  flood  of  tears,  his  hope  went 
out  like  a  candle.”  Again,  speaking  of  a  person  who  hesi¬ 
tated  to  commit  a  small  offense  when  contemplating  a 
greater  crime,  “  Is  it  possible,”  he  asked,  “  to  think  ration¬ 
ally  that  if  a  person  was  going  to  plunge  into  a  cataract 
below  the  precipice,  he  would  be  over-careful  not  to  moisten 
his  feet  with  dew?”  Of  a  witness’  statement  he  declared 
that  it  was  “  no  more  like  the  truth  than  a  pebble  is  like 
a  star;  or,”  he  added  after  a  pause,  “a  witch’s  broomstick 
is  like  a  banner-stick.”  Of  an  unseaworthy  vessel  he  de¬ 
clared:  “The  vessel,  after  leaving  the  smooth  water  of 
Boston  harbor,  encountered  the  eternal  motion  of  the 
ocean,  which  has  been  there  from  creation,  and  will  be 
there  till  land  and  sea  shall  be  no  more.  She  went  down 
the  harbor  a  painted  and  perfidious  thing,  but  soul- 
freighted,  a  coffin  for  the  living,  a  coffin  for  the  dead.” 

The  wit  of  Choate  was  as  unique  as  everything  else 
belonging  to  his  singular  genius.  The  effects  it  produced 
were  owing  partly  to  the  queer  association  of  opposite 
ideas,  and  partly  to  the  solemn  and  dignified,  and  some- 


376 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


times  sepulchral  utterance  with  which  he  would  mask  the 
point  of  a  joke.  When  a  counsel  in  a  patent  case  said 
to  him,  “There’s  nothing  original  in  your  patent;  your 
client  did  not  come  at  it  naturally ,”  Choate  replied,  with 
a  half-mirthful,  half-scornful  look:  “What  does  my  brother 
mean  by  naturally?  Naturally!  We  don’t  do  anything 
naturally.  Why,  naturally  a  man  would  walk  down  Wash- 
ington  street  with  his  pantaloons  off!’’  One  day  he  was 
interrupted  in  an  argument  by  a  United  States  judge,  and 
told  that  he  must  not  assume  that  a  certain  person  was 
in  a  large  business,  and  had  made  many  enemies, —  that 
he  was  a  physician,  and  not  in  business.  “  Well,  then,’’ 
replied  Choate,  instantly,  with  a  merry  twinkle  of  the  eye, 
“  he’s  a  physician,  and  the  friends  of  the  people  he’s  killed 
by  his  practice  are  his  enemies.’’  Of  one  of  his  female 
clients  he  said:  “She  is  a  sinner, —  no,  not  a  sinner,  for 
she  is  our  client;  but  she  is  a  very  disagreeable  saint.”  Not 
only  does  his  wit  exercise  itself  upon  subjects  intrinsically 
ludicrous,  but  even  into  his  gravest  utterances  upon  the 
most  serious  themes  there  is  often  injected  a  vein  of  humor 
or  drollery  which  affects  one  like  a  jest  on  a  gravestone, 
or  in  a  ledger.  Sometimes  this  is  done  unconsciously,  and 
sometimes  it  is  accompanied  with  a  merry  twinkle, —  a 
queer,  quizzical  look, —  a  kind  of  subdued  chuckle,  or  in¬ 
audible  crow, —  indicating  a  consciousness  that  the  jest  is 
good.  In  a  railroad  case  the  person  injured  by  the  col¬ 
lision  of  the  cars  with  his  wagon,  was  declared  by  a  wit¬ 
ness  to  have  been  intoxicated  at  the  time  he  was  driving. 
When  cross-examined,  the  witness  said  he  knew  it,  because 
he  leaned  over  him,  and  found  by  his  breath  that  “  he  had 
been  drinking  gin  and  brandy.”  Commenting  on  this 
testimony,  Choate  said:  “The  witness  swears  he  stood  by 


FORENSIC  ORATORS  —  CHOATE. 


377 


the  dying  man  in  his  last  moments.  What  was  he  there 
for?”  he  thundered  out. — “Was  it  to  administer  those 
assiduities  which  are  ordinarily  proffered  at  the  bedside 
of  dying  men?  Was  it  to  extend  to  him  the  consolations 
of  that  religion  which  for  eighteen  hundred  years  has 
comforted  the  world?  No,  gentlemen,  no!  He  leans  over 
the  departing  sufferer;  he  bends  his  face  nearer  and  nearer 
to  him, —  and  what  does  he  do?” — (raising  his  voice  to 
a  yet  higher  key) — “What  does  he  do?  Smells  gin  and 
brandy!"  Of  the  bankruptcy  of  a  dry-goods  merchant,  he 
said:  “So  have  I  heard  that  the  vast  possessions  of  Alex¬ 
ander  the  Conqueror  crumbled  away  in  dying  dynasties, 
in  the  unequal  hands  of  his  weak  heirs.” 

A  good  illustration  of  his  peculiar  exaggeration  is  fur¬ 
nished  by  a  passage  in  his  speech  before  a  committee  of 
the  Massachusetts  legislature  on  the  disputed  boundary 
question  between  that  state  and  Rhode  Island:  “I  would 
as  soon,”  said  he,  in  a  nervous  tone  and  with  startling 
energy,  “think  of  bounding  a  sovereign  state  on  the  North 
by  a  dandelion,  on  the  West  by  a  blue-jay,  on  the  South 
by  a  hive  of  bees  in  swarming  time,  and  on  the  East  by 
three  hundred  foxes  with  firebrands  tied  to  their  tails,  as 
of  relying  upon  the  loose  and  indefinite  bounds  of  com¬ 
missioners  a  century  ago.”  Touching  his  marvelous  copi¬ 
ousness  of  style,  it  used  to  be  said  by  the  Boston  wits 
that  he  “drove  a  substantive  and  six”;  and  it  is  related 
that  when  Chief-Justice  Shaw,  of  Massachusetts,  was  told 
that  a  fresh  edition  of  Worcester’s  dictionary  was  com¬ 
ing  out,  with  five  thousand  new  words,  he  said:  “For 
heaven’s  sake,  don't  let  Choate  hear  of  it!"  He  not  only 
multiplied,  but  sometimes  repeated  adjectives  and  other 

words  with  telling  effect, —  as  when  in  a  will  case,  im- 
16* 


378 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


pugning  the  testator’s  sanity,  he  closed  a  statement  of  the 
facts  tending  to  establish  the  insanity  with  the  sorrowing 
cadence:  “No,  gentlemen  of  the  jury,  the  mind  of  Oliver 
Smith  never  signed  that  paper.  That  mind  was  dead, — 
dead, —  dead.''  Repeating  the  word  each  time  with  a  slower 
and  sadder  articulation,  he  made  a  profound  impression. 

One  of  Choate’s  most  marvellous  gifts  was  his  power 
of  so  emphasizing  a  point  verbally  that  a  jury  would 
see  it  clear  into  the  roots  of  their  optic  nerves.  A  good 
example  of  this  is  a  passage  in  his  speech  in  the  Tirrell 
case:  A  witness  against  the  prisoner  (whom  Choate 
was  defending),  having  been  absent,  was  called  out  of 
turn,  and  after  the  defense  was  in.  Commenting  upon 
this  procedure,  Mr.  Choate  said:  “ Where  was  this  tardy 
and  belated  witness,  that  he  comes  here  to  tell  us  all 
that  he  knows ,  and  all  that  he  doesn't  know,  eight  and 
forty  hours  after  the  evidence  for  the  defense  has  been 
closed?  Is  the  case  so  obscure  that  he  has  never  heard 
of  it?  Was  he  ill,  or  in  custody?  Was  he  in  Europe, 
Asia,  or  Africa?  Was  he  on  the  Red  Sea,  or  the  Yellow 
Sea,  or  the  Black  Sea,  or  the  Mediterranean  Sea?  Was  he 
at  Land’s  End,  or  John  O’Groat’s  northeastern  boundary, 
drawing  and  defining  that  much  vexed  line?  Or  was  he 
with  General  Taylor  and  his  army,  or  wherever  the  fleet¬ 
ing  southwestern  boundary  line  of  this  expanding  coun¬ 
try  may  at  any  time  happen  to  be?  No,  gentlemen,  he 
was  at  none  of  these  places — comparatively  easy  of  access; 
but, —  and  I  would  emphasize  upon  your  attention,  Mr. 
Foreman,  the  fact,  and  urge  it  upon  your  consideration, 
—  he  was  in  that  more  incontiguous,  more  inaccessible 
region, —  so  hard  to  come  at,  and  from  which  so  few 
travelers  return, —  Roxbury!”  (Roxbury  adjoined  Boston.) 


CHAPTER  XIII. 


PULPIT  ORATORS. 


F  one  were  asked  who  was  the  greatest  pulpit  orator 


that  ever  lived,  it  would  be  a  nice  question  to  deter¬ 
mine,  so  various  are  the  styles  of  sacred  eloquence,  and 
so  different  are  the  tastes  of  even  the  most  competent 
judges.  But  if  we  were  to  judge  by  the  effects  produced, 
we  should  hardly  need  to  hesitate  in  pronouncing  George 
Whitefield  the  Demosthenes  of  the  pulpit.  In  reading 
his  printed  sermons,  as  in  reading  the  speeches  of  Fox  or 
Sheridan,  we  are  utterly  puzzled  to  account  for  their 
electrical  effect.  One  of  the  latest  biographers  of  the 
great  preacher,  Mr.  Gledstone,  is  compelled  to  confess 
their  “  tameness,’’  their  “  feeble  thought  and  unpolished 
language  ” ;  and  though,  among  the  extracts  he  has  given, 
there  are  a  few  striking  and  dramatic  passages,  they  are 
neither  numerous  or  powerful  enough  to  discredit  his 
statement.  When  pressed  to  print  his  sermons,  Whitefield 
might  well  have  answered  with  a  popular  French  divine, 
“Gladly,  provided  that  you  print  the  preacher.”  Yet  no 
fact  in  the  history  of  eloquence  is  better  attested  than 
the  overpowering  effects  of  Whitefield’s  oratory.  Even 
in  his  }muth,  when,  being  but  twenty-one  years  of  age, 
and  deeming  himself  unfit  for  the  pulpit,  he  had  “  prayed, 
and  wrestled,  and  striven  with  God,”  that  he  might  not 
yet  be  called  to  preach,  complaint  was  made  to  his  bishop 


379 


380 


ORATORY  ANI)  ORATORS. 


that  he  had  driven  fifteen  persons  mad  by  his  very  first 
sermon, —  to  which  the  worthy  prelate  replied  that  “  he 
hoped  the  madness  might  not  be  forgotten  before  the 
next  Sunday.” 

For  thirty  years  Whitefield  was  listened  to  with  breath¬ 
less  interest  in  both  hemispheres.  His  preaching  tours, 
it  has  been  truly  said,  were  often  like  triumphal  proces¬ 
sions,  in  which  he  was  escorted  by  bands  of  enthusiastic 
horsemen  from  place  to  place,  and  awaited  at  every  halt 
by  crowds  of  insatiate  listeners,  who  could  never  have 
enough  of  his  heartfelt  oratory.  Shut  out  from  the  Eng¬ 
lish  churches,  he  turned  to  the  open  fields, 

“  To  that  cathedral,  boundless  as  our  wonder, 

Whose  quenchless  lamps  the  sun  and  moon  supply, 

Its  choir  the  winds  and  waves,  its  organ  thunder, 

Its  dome  the  sky,” 

and  there,  with  the  hillside  for  his  pulpit,  harangued  the 
men,  women,  and  children,  who  came  trooping  from  north, 
south,  east,  and  west,  even  before  daylight,  to  hear  him. 
Preaching  four  times  on  Sunday,  and  on  every  day  of  the 
week,  talking  sometimes  from  seven  in  the  morning  till 
late  at  night,  he  showed  no  signs  of  exhaustion,  but  every¬ 
where  and  at  all  times  subdued  and  charmed  men  by  the 
spell  of  his  fervid  oratory.  At  Kingswood,  Kensington, 
and  other  places,  audiences  of  twenty,  thirty,  and  even 
forty  thousand,  hung  for  hours  on  his  lips;  sometimes 
through  pelting  rain,  or  far  into  the  night,  standing 
around  him  as  if  entranced,  and  unable  to  tear  them¬ 
selves  away;  and  over  all  these  vast  assemblies  he  ruled 
supreme,  at  his  will  hushing  them  into  awe-struck  silence, 
or  melting  them  to  tears,  or  drawing  from  them  cries  and 
groans  that  almost  drowned  his  voice. 

At  Bristol,  where  the  Bishop  threatened  him  with  ex- 


PULPIT  ORATORS  —  WHITEFIELD. 


381 


communication,  if  he  should  dare  to  wa^  his  tongue  in  the 
diocese,  his  triumphs  were  no  less  signal.  Before  day  the 
people  might  be  seen  going  with  lanterns  to  hear  him;  and 
so  vast  was  the  throng,  that  men  clung  to  the  rails  of  the 
organ-loft,  and  climbed  to  every  accessible  place  to  get 
within  reach  of  his  voice.  Even  the  rude  colliers  of  the 
mining-regions,  and  the  rabble  of  Moorfields, —  a  motley 
crowd  of  mountebanks,  merry-andrews,  and  persons  of  the 
vilest  character, —  attested  his  spiritual  triumphs.  In  spite 
of  a  furious  opposition,  and  though  the  whole  field,  as  he 
said,  “  seemed  ready,  not  for  the  Redeemer’s,  but  for  Beel¬ 
zebub’s  harvest";  though  missiles  of  the  most  offensive 
kind  were  hurled  at  him,  and  he  was  lashed  at  by  a  whip, 
assaulted  with  a  sword,  and  his  voice  drowned  at  times  by 
drums  and  trumpets;  he  preached  for  three  days  to  a 
throng  of  twenty-five  thousand  persons,  of  whom  three 
hundred  and  fifty  were  converted,  and  a  thousand  pricked 
in  their  consciences  during  the  first  twenty-four  hours! 

Among  the  wary  and  thoughtful  Scotch  the  excitement 
was  no  less  intense.  In  vain  did  sectarian  narrowness 
oppose  his  efforts;  in  vain  did  the  Presbyterians  denounce 
the  revivals  that  followed  his  preaching  as  “  a  wark  of 
the  deevil,”’  stigmatize  him  as  “  a  false  Christ,”  and  even 
keep  a  fast  on  the  occasion  of  his  reappearance;  the  peo¬ 
ple  flocked  by  thousands  to  hear  him,  and  the  stoutest 
hearts  shook  and  trembled  under  his  impassioned  and 
electric  appeals.  On  one  occasion,  we  are  told,  as  the 
night  darkened  over  his  vast  audience,  his  word  went 
through  it  like  a  shot  piercing  a  regiment  of  soldiers, 
casting  many  to  the  ground,  groaning  and  fainting  under 
the  vehemence  of  their  emotions.  Nor  was  this  only  when 
they  were  led  by  the  great  preacher  to  Sinai,  and  saw  the 


382 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


lightnings  flash  and  heard  the  thunders  roar;  far  greater 
numbers  were  overcome  when  told,  in  the  tenderest  ac¬ 
cents,  of  redeeming  love.  Fourteen  times  he  visited  “Auld 
Scotia”  with  the  same  results;  and  so  happy  was  he  there, 
that  he  called  the  day  of  his  departure  execution  day. 

Crossing  the  Atlantic  thirteen  times,  he  spent  nine 
years  in  “  hunting  for  sinners  in  the  wilds  of  America,’’ 
and  everywhere  with  the  same  results.  At  Boston,  at 
New  York,  at  Philadelphia,  at  Charleston,  his  words  fell 
like  a  hammer  and  like  fire  on  all  who  heard  him. 
Some  who  listened  to  him  were  struck  pale  as  death, 
others  sank  into  the  arms  of  their  friends,  and  others 
lifted  up  their  eyes  to  heaven  and  cried  out  to  God  for 
mercy.  “  I  could  think  of  nothing,’’  he  says  on  one  of 
these  occasions,  “  when  I  looked  upon  them,  so  much  as 
the  great  day.  They  seemed  like  persons  awakened  by 
the  last  trump,  and  coming  out  of  their  graves  to  judg¬ 
ment.’’  Opposition,  instead  of  checking,  only  increased  the 
impetuous  flow  of  his  speech.  The  men  who  came  to  scofl’ 
or  jeer,  speedily  found  that  he  was  superior  to  the  pas¬ 
sions  of  his  audience,  and  either  submitted  to  the  spell 
of  his  oratory,  or  slunk  away  cheated  of  their  sport. 

Nor  was  Whitefield,  as  Dr.  Johnson  supposed,  merely 
the  orator  of  the  mob.  Not  only  the  unlettered,  but  men 
of  the  highest  culture,  yielded  to  the  fascination  of  his 
speech.  The  cold,  skeptical  Hume  declared  that  he  would 
go  twenty  miles  on  foot  to  hear  Whitefield  preach;  and 
in  his  chapel  might  be  seen  the  Duke  of  Grafton,  not  yet 
pierced  by  the  arrows  of  Junius,  the  heartless  George 
Selwyn,  Lord  North,  Charles  James  Fox,  William  Pitt, 
and  Soame  Jenyns.  John  Newton,  the  friend  of  Cowper, 
used  to  get  up  at  four  in  the  morning  to  hear  the  great 


PULPIT  ORATORS —  WHITEFIELJ). 


383 


preacher  at  five;  and  he  says  that  even  at  that  early 
hour  the  Moorfields  were  as  full  of  lanterns  as  the  Hay- 
market  of  flambeaux  on  an  opera  night.  So  great,  at 
last,  was  the  spell,  that,  “  when  the  scandal  could  be  con¬ 
cealed  behind  the  well-adjusted  curtain,  ‘  e’en  mitred  au¬ 
ditors  would  nod  the  head/  ”»  Even  the  calm  and  unim- 
passioned  Franklin  caught  fire  at  Whitefield’s  burning 
words;  and  perhaps  no  more  signal  proof  of  the  orator’s 
power  could  be  given  than  its  triumph  over  the  pru¬ 
dence  of  Poor  Richard.  Whitefield  had  consulted  Frank¬ 
lin  about  the  location  of  a  proposed  orphan  house,  but 
had  refused  to  adopt  his  advice,  and  thereupon  Franklin 
decided  not  to  subscribe.  “  I  happened  soon  after,”  he 
says,  “  to  attend  one  of  his  sermons,  in  the  course  of  which 
I  perceived  he  intended  to  finish  with  a  collection,  and  I 
silently  resolved  he  should  get  nothing  from  me.  I  had 
in  my  pocket  a  handful  of  copper  money,  three  or  four 
silver  dollars,  and  five  pistoles  in  gold.  As  he  proceeded 
I  began  to  soften,  and  concluded  to  give  him  the  copper. 
Another  stroke  of  his  oratory  made  me  ashamed  of  that, 
and  determined  me  to  give  the  silver,  and  he  finished  so 
admirably  that  I  emptied  my  pocket  wholly  into  the  col¬ 
lector’s  dish,  gold  and  all.” 

The  same  sermon  was  heard  by  a  friend  of  Franklin’s, 
who,  agreeing  with  him  about  the  location  of  the  house, 
had,  as  a  precaution,  emptied  his  pockets  before  he  came 
from  home.  But,  before  the  discourse  was  ended,  he  beg¬ 
ged  a  neighbor,  who  stood  near  him,  to  lend  him  some 
money  for  a  contribution.  If  any  men  could  have  resist¬ 
ed  the  preacher’s  spell,  it  must  have  been  the  haughty 
and  brilliant  Bolingbroke,  and  the  worldly  and  fastidious 
Chesterfield;  yet  the  former,  we  are  told,  was  once  deeply 


384 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


moved;  and  the  icy  decorum  and  self-possession  of  the 
latter  were,  on  one  Occasion,  as  completely  overpowered 
as  if  he  had  been  an  English  collier  or  a  Welsh  miner. 
The  preacher  had  presented  the  votary  of  sin  under  the 
figure  of  a  blind  beggar,  led  by  a  little  dog.  The  dog 
breaks  his  string.  The  old  man,  with  his  staff  between 
both  hands,  unconsciously  gropes  his  way  to  the  edge  of 
a  frightful  precipice.  Step  by  step  he  advances;  he  feels 
along  with  his  staff;  it  drops  down  the  descent,  too  far  to 
send  back  an  echo;  his  foot  trembles  on  the  ledge;  another 
moment,  and  he  will  fall  headlong  into  the  valley  below, — 
when  up  starts  the  peer,  crying  out  in  an  agony,  as  he 
springs  forward  to  save  him,  “Good  God!  he  is  gone!1' * 

What  was  the  secret  of  this  marvellous  power?  It  lay 
partly  in  his  extraordinary  dramatic  faculty,  and  partly 
in  his  burning  love  for  the  souls  of  sinful  men.  He  was 
not  a  learned  man,  nor  was  he  a  profound  and  original 
thinker.  He  had  apparently  no  Hebrew  and  little  Greek, 
and  was  acquainted  neither  with  scholastic  divinity  nor 
with  the  great  divines  of  modern  times.  But  he  was 
profoundly  in  earnest,  and  concentrating  all  his  faculties 
of  mind,  soul,  and  body,  upon  one  great  end,  forgot  every¬ 
thing  else  in  his  intense  desire  for  the  salvation  of  his 
fellow  men.  When  to  this  was  added  the  charm  of  his 
exquisite  voice  and  delivery,  the  combination  was  irresist¬ 
ible.  Whitefield  had  a  rare  dramatic  genius,  and  it  was 

*  A  similar  testimony  was  once  borne  to  the  eloquence  of  Dr.  Kirk,  of 
Boston.  Once,  says  Dr.  R.  S.  Storrs,  in  his  “Preaching  without  Notes,”  when 
Dr.  Kirk  was  preaching  at  Pittsfield,  Massachusetts,  ...”  he  described  the  way 
of  worldly  pleasure  and  gain,  without  thought  of  God,  as  a  smooth  broad  road, 
along  whose  easy  and  gradual  slopes  men  carelessly  walked,  till  they  came  on 
a  sudden  to  the  precipice  at  the  end;  and  so  vivid  was  the  final  image,  as  it 
flashed  from  his  mind  upon  the  assembly,  that  when  he  depicted  them  going 
over  the  edge,  a  rough-looking  man  .  .  .  rose  in  his  place,  and  looked  over 
the  gallery  front,  to  see  the  chasm  into  which  they  were  falling.” 


PULPIT  ORATORS  —  WHITEFIELD. 


b85 


aided  by  every  other  gift  that  could  lend  it  force.  To  a 
fine  person  and  an  expressive  countenance,  was  added  a 
voice  of  unequalled  depth  and  compass,  whose  ever-chang¬ 
ing  melodies,  as  it  swept  over  the  whole  scale  of  modula¬ 
tion,  could  be  heard  by  thirty  thousand  hearers,  and  for 
the  distance  of  nearly  a  mile.  It  could  thunder  like 
Sinai,  or  whisper  like  a  zephyr,  and  its  tones  of  pathos 
were  such  that  the  words,  “  0  the  wrath  to  come  ”  were 
sufficient  to  bring  tears  to  the  eyes  of  a  vast  audience. 
To  these  physical  gifts  were  added  an  emotional  tempera¬ 
ment  scarcely  ever  possessed  by  any  other  man, —  a  tem¬ 
perament  which  would  at  one  moment  break  out  into 
passionate  weeping,  and  at  the  next  flash  into  lofty  indig¬ 
nation,  or  melt  into  contagious  tenderness, —  and  a  feli¬ 
city  of  gesture  which  gave  significance  to  every  sentence, 
and  brought  before  his  audience  each  scene  that  he  de¬ 
scribed  as  vividly  as  if  it  had  been  present  to  their  eyes. 

His  vehemence,  especially,  was  a  marked  feature  of  his 
preaching.  A  poor  man  said  that  he  preached  like  a  lion. 
Sometimes  he  stamped,  sometimes  he  wept,  sometimes  he 
stopped,  exhausted  by  emotion,  and  appeared  almost  ready 
to  expire.  Of  him  it  might  be  said,  as  of  an  early  German 
reformer,  vividus  vultus ,  vividi  oculi,  vividae  manus,  denique 
omnia  vivida.  Besides  all  this,  Whitefield  had  cultivated 
the  histrionic  art  to  a  degree  rarely  attained  by  the  most 
eminent  men  who  have  trodden  the  stage.  Foote  and 
Garrick  heard  him  often,  and  they  both  declared  that  his 
oratory  was  not  at  its  full  height  until  he  had  repeated 
a  discourse  forty  times.  Weeding  out  from  his  sermons 
every  weak  and  ineffective  passage,  and  retaining  all  the 
impressive  ones,  he  gradually  improved  them  to  the  utter¬ 
most;  while  his  delivery  was  so  improved  by  frequent  repe- 
17 


386 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


tition, —  every  accent,  every  emphasis,  every  modulation 
of  the  voice,  was  so  perfectly  toned, —  that,  according  to 
Franklin,  the  effect  was  like  that  of  beautiful  music.  So 
perfect  was  his  dramatization,  that  the  public,  instead  of 
calling  him  the  Garrick  of  the  pulpit,  paid  him  the  far 
higher  compliment  of  calling  Garrick  the  Whitefield  of 
the  stage. 

In  his  art  of  rhetoric,  apostrophe  and  personification, 
which  quickened  the  coldest  abstractions  into  life,  held 
the  first  place.  On  one  occasion,  after  a  solemn  pause,  he 
told  his  hearers  that  the  attendant  angel  was  about  to 
leave  the  sanctuary  and  ascend  to  heaven.  “And  shall 
he  ascend,”  cried  the  preacher,  “  and  not  bear  with  him 
the  news  of  one  sinner,  among  all  this  multitude,  re¬ 
claimed  from  the  error  of  his  ways?1'  Here  he  stamped 
with  his  foot,  lifted  up  his  hands  and  eyes  to  heaven,  and 
cried  aloud:  “Stop!  Gabriel,  stop!  ere  you  enter  the  sacred 
portals,  and  yet  carry  with  you  the  news  of  one  sinner 
converted  to  God !  ”  This  bold  apostrophe  to  an  imaginary 
being,  as  to  a  real  messenger  between  earth  and  heaven, 
was  accompanied  with  such  animated  yet  natural  action, 
that  the  philosophic  Hume  declared  that  it  surpassed  any¬ 
thing  he  had  ever  seen  or  heard  in  any  other  preacher. 

At  another  time,  after  exclaiming,  “Look  yonder!  What 
is  that  I  see?”  he  depicted  the  Savior’s  agony  in  the  gar¬ 
den  so  vividly,  that  it  seemed  to  be  passing  before  the  eyes 
of  the  congregation.  “Hark!  hark!  do  you  not  hear?” 
he  exclaimed,  as  if  it  were  not  difficult  to  catch  the  sound 
of  the  Savior  praying.  Though  this  passage  was  again 
and  again  repeated  in  his  addresses,  it  impressed  those 
who  knew  what  was  coming,  as  though  they  heard  it  for 
the  first  time.  Sometimes  at  the  close  of  a  sermon,  we 


rULPIT  ORATORS  —  WHITEFIELD. 


387 


are  told,  he  would  personate  a  judge  about  to  perform  the 
last  awful  duty  of  his  office.  With  his  eyes  full  of  tears, 
and  an  emotion  that  made  his  speech  falter,  after  a  pause 
which  kept  the  whole  audience  in  breathless  expectation 
of  what  was  to  come,  he  would  proceed:  “  I  am  now  about 
to  put  on  my  condemning  cap.  Sinner,  I  must  do  it:  I 
must  pronounce  sentence  upon  you!”  and  then,  in  a  tre¬ 
mendous  strain  of  eloquence,  describing  the  eternal  pun¬ 
ishment  of  the  wicked,  he  would  recite  the  words  of  Christ; 
“  Depart  from  me,  ye  cursed,  into  everlasting  fire,  pre¬ 
pared  for  the  devil  and  his  angels.”  When  he  related 
how  Peter,  after  the  cock  crew,  went  out  and  wept  bit¬ 
terly,  he  had  always  a  fold  of  his  gown  ready  in  which 
to  hide  his  face.  We  have  already  mentioned  how  he 
startled  the  fastidious  Chesterfield  by  his  pictorial  power. 
An  equally  great  oratorical  conquest  was  that  in  New 
York,  when,  preaching  to  the  seamen,  he  described  in 
thrilling  language  a  ship  dismantled  and  thrown  on  her 
beam  ends  by  a  squall,  and  at  the  exclamation,  “  What 
next?”  they  rose  to  their  feet  as  one  man,  shouting  out 
in  their  excitement,  “The  long  boat!  take  to  the  long 
boat! ” 

All  this  may  be  called  acting,  and,  in  a  certain  sense, 
it  was  acting  that  has  never  been  surpassed.  But  it  was 
more  than  acting,  for  the  man  personated  no  emotion, 
uttered  no  sentiment,  which  from  the  depths  of  his  heart 
he  did  not  feel.  It  was  out  of  a  soul  at  white  heat,  con¬ 
sumed  by  the  love  of  other  souls,  that  these  imperson¬ 
ations  sprang;  and  the  more  they  offend  our  taste  at 
times,  the  more  they  shock  our  ideas  of  the  solemnity 
that  belongs  to  holy  things,  the  more  exquisite  must 
have  been  the  skill  which  made  them  appear  the  lofty 


388 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


and  irrepressible  outbursts  of  a  mind  carried  away  by  its 
conceptions.  Had  Whitefield  not  been  a  Christian  and  a 
philanthropist,  his  tastes,  in  all  probability,  would  have 
led  him  to  the  stage,  where  he  would  have  rivalled  or 
eclipsed  Garrick. 

Though  Whitefield's  sermons  were  repeated  again  and 
again  in  his  travels,  even  for  the  hundredth  time,  yet  no 
speaker  was  ever  quicker  to  seize  upon  any  passing  in¬ 
cident,  and  turn  it  to  account.  If  a  storm  was  gather¬ 
ing,  the  shadows  flitting  across  his  field  congregations 
were  emblems  of  human  life;  the  heavy  thunder-cloud 
and  the  flash  of  lightning  were  emblems  of  the  day  of 
wrath;  and  the  rainbow  that  spanned  the  sky  spoke  of 
the  grace  that  offered  salvation  in  Jesus  Christ.  A  scof¬ 
fer’s  levity  would  point  a  stern  rebuke;  and  the  peniten¬ 
tial  tear  trickling  down  a  sinner’s  cheek  would  prompt 
a  word  of  loving  encouragement. 

It  was  this  deep  sympathy  for  his  hearers,  this  intense 
love  of  sinful  human  souls,  that  was  the  great  secret  of 
Whitefield’s  power.  Without  it,  neither  his  energy,  nor 
his  eloquence,  nor  his  marvellous  dramatic  gifts,  nor  all 
these  united,  would  have  enabled  him  to  work  a  tithe  of 
the  miracles  he  did.  “  If  ever  philanthropy  burned  in 
the  human  heart  with  pure  and  intense  flame,”  says  Sir 
James  Stephen,  “  it  was  in  the  heart  of  George  White- 
field.”  It  was  not  the  theology  of  his  sermons,  which 
was  often  hard,  literal,  and  gross,  but  the  preacher’s  spirit, 
that  won  the  people’s  ear  and  heart.  Plentifully  u  dow¬ 
ered  with  the  hate  of  hate,  the  scorn  of  scorn,  the  love 
of  love,”  he  lived  and  toiled,  not  for  self,  but  for  his  dy¬ 
ing  fellow-men.  Love,  as  one  of  his  latest  biographers 
says,  is  more  than  theology,  both  with  God  and  man,  and 


PULPIT  ORATORS —  YVH ITEFIELD. 


389 


love  was  never  absent  from  any  sermon  of  Whitefield. 
He  had  no  preference  but  for  the  poor,  the  ignorant,  and 
the  miserable.  In  their  cause,  as  they  plainly  saw,  he 
shrank  from  no  privation,  and  declined  neither  insult  nor 
hostility;  in  their  behalf,  if  necessary,  he  would  gladly 
have  died.  It  was  the  perception  of  this  fact  which,  even 
more  than  his  passionate  oratory,  melted  the  murderous 
miners  at  Cornwall,  and  caused  tears  to  run  “  in  white 
gutters  down  the  black  faces  of  the  colliers,  black  as  they 
came  out  of  the  coal-pits,”  at  Kingwood. 

It  is  doubtful  whether  any  other  preacher  ever  im¬ 
pressed  his  hearers  with  so  profound  a  conviction  of  his 
disinterested  love  for  them,  as  Whitefield  impressed  on 
the  hearts  of  the  thousands  that  hung  upon  his  lips. 
They  knew  that  it  was  for  no  selfish  end  that  he  was 
wearing  himself  out  in  behalf  of  frail,  sorrowing,  per¬ 
plexed,  and  dying  men;  that,  with  the  exception  of  brief 
intervals  of  repose,  bis  whole  life  was  consumed,  so  to 
speak,  in  the  delivery  of  one  continuous  or  scarcely  in¬ 
terrupted  sermon.  “  The  parochial  clergyman,  in  return 
for  his  tithes,  was  content  to  give  his  parishioners  a  sin¬ 
gle  discourse  one  day  in  the  week,  under  the  delivery  of 
which  some  of  them  were  looking  impatiently  at  the 
clock,  others  thinking  of  the  price  of  stocks  or  the  pros¬ 
pects  of  the  next  crop,  and  others  sleeping.  But  here 
was  a  man  who,  without  pay,  was  spending  his  life  be¬ 
tween  the  saddle  on  which  he  hurried  from  one  congre¬ 
gation  to  another,  and  the  pulpit  from  which  he  addressed 
them,  and  was  preaching  in  words  of  fire  all  over  the 
kingdom,  at  the  rate  of  forty  and  often  sixty  hours  a 
week, —  filling  up  the  intervals  with  prayers  and  inter¬ 
cessions  and  spiritual  songs, —  and  who  called  it  being 


390 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


put  on  short  allowance,  when,  to  save  him  from  utter  ex¬ 
haustion,  he  was  limited  to  one  a  day  and  three  times  on 
Sunday.*  And  when  this  man  stood  before  them,  pouring 
out  his  soul  in  the  most  impassioned  entreaties  and  appeals, 
with  floods  of  tears,  it  was  no  wonder  that  a  sympathetic 
thrill  passed  from  heart  to  heart,  and  rugged  natures  were 
subdued,  and  long-sealed  eyes  learned  to  weep.” 

Once,  and  once  only,  we  are  told,  did  one  of  Whitefield's 
hearers  fall  asleep.  It  was  an  old  man,  who  sat  in  front 
of  the  pulpit,  when  the  preacher  was  discoursing  on  a  rainy 
day  to  a  rather  drowsy  congregation  in  New  Jersey.  In¬ 
stead  of  sitting  down  and  weeping,  as  Dr.  Young  did  in 
a  royal  chapel  under  similar  circumstances,  the  preacher 
stopped;  his  face  darkened  with  a  frown;  and,  changing 
his  tone,  he  cried  out:  “If  I  had  come  to  speak  to  you  in 
my  own  name,  you  might  rest  your  elbows  on  your  knees, 
and  your  heads  upon  your  hands,  and  sleep,  and  once  in  a 
while  look  up  and  say,  ‘  What  does  the  babbler  talk  of  ?  ’ 
But  I  have  not  come  to  you  in  my  own  name.  No:  I  have 
come  to  you  in  the  name  of  the  Lord  of  Hosts,” — here 
he  brought  his  hand  and  foot  down  with  a  force  that  made 
the  building  ring, — “and  I  must  and  will  be  heard!”  The 
congregation  started,  and  the  old  man  woke.  “Ay,  ay,” 
said  Whitefield,  fixing  his  eyes  on  him,  “  I  have  waked  you 

*  His  panacea  for  his  ailings  was  perpetual  preaching;  and  just  before  he 
died,  he  said:  “A  good  pulpit  sweat  would  give  me  relief.” 

“Given,”  says  Sir  James  Stephen,  “a  preacher  who,  during  the  passage 
of  the  sun  through  the  ecliptic,  addresses  his  audience  every  seventh  day  in 
two  discourses  of  the  dwarfish  size  to  which  sermons  attain  in  this  degener¬ 
ate  age,  and  multiply  his  efforts  by  forty,  and  you  do  not  reach  the  measure 
of  Whitefield’s  homiletical  labors,  during  each  of  his  next  five  and  thirty  years. 
Combine  this  with  the  fervor  with  which  he  habitually  spoke,  the  want  of  all 
aids  to  the  voice  in  the  fields  and  the  thoroughfares  he  frequented,  and  the  toil 
of  rendering  himself  distinctly  audible  to  thousands  and  tens  of  thousands,  and, 
considered  merely  as  a  physical  phenomenon,  the  result  is  amongst  the  most 
curious  of  well-authenticated  marvels.” 


PULPIT  ORATORS  —  HALL. 


391 

up,  have  I?  I  meant  to  do  it.  I  am  not  come  here  to 
preach  to  stocks  and  stones:  I  have  come  to  you  in  the 
name  of  the  Lord  God  of  Hosts,  and  I  must,  and  I  will, 
have  an  audience.”  There  was  no  more  sleeping  or  in¬ 
dolence  that  day. 

A  pulpit  orator  of  a  far  different  stamp  from  the  great 
Methodist  who  sleeps  at  Newburyport,  was  the  celebrated 
Baptist  preacher,  the  friend  of  Sir  James  Mackintosh  and 
John  Foster,  Robert  Hall.  Delicate  and  feeble  in  infancy, 
and  slow  of  perception, —  unable,  when  two  years  old,  to 
walk  or  speak, —  he  gave  no  promise  of  the  physical  and 
intellectual  athlete  which  he  afterward  became.  Learning 
the  alphabet  from  his  nurse  on  the  village  grave-stones,  he 
became  a  talker  almost  as  soon  as  he  could  speak,  and  pos¬ 
sessing  himself  of  the  signs  of  thought,  he  became  at  once 
a  quick  and  earnest  thinker.  The  stories  told  of  his  pre¬ 
cocity  almost  stagger  belief.  While  but  six  years  of  age, 
he  would  steal  away  after  school-hours  to  the  grave-yard, 
with  his  pinafore  stuffed  with  books  (including  an  English 
dictionary,  to  help  him  understand  the  hard  words),  and 
then,  spreading  out  his  volumes  on  the  long  grass,  continue 
at  his  studies  with  grave  and  moody  face  till  the  curfew 
sounded  the  knell  of  day.  Before  he  was  nine  he  read 
and  re-read,  we  are  told,  “  with  intense  interest,”  Jonathan 
Edwards’s  works  on  “The  Affections”  and  “The  Will”;  at 
ten,  he  had  become  a  prolific  writer,  elaborating,  systema¬ 
tizing,  and  pouring  forth  his  knowledge  in  the  form  of 
essays  and  sermons,  which,  mounted  on  a  parlor  chair, 
he  preached  with  eloquence,  solemnity  and  pathos  to  his 
brothers  and  sisters;  and  at  eleven,  his  school-teacher 
confessed,  with  an  ingenuous  honesty  which  has  few  prece- 


392 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


dents,  his  utter  inability  to  keep  pace  with  his  pupil,  and 
begged  that  he  might  be  removed  from  the  school.  Soon 
after  this  a  friend  of  his  father's  was  so  struck  with  the 
boy's  gift  of  speech,  that  he  prevailed  on  him  on  several 
occasions  to  deliver  a  kind  of  sermon  to  a  select  company, 
assembled  for  the  purpose,  at  his  house, — “  an  egregious 
impropriety"  which  Mr.  Hall  in  manhood  could  never 
recall  without  grief.  In  thinking  of  such  mistakes  of  good 
men,  he  was  wont  to  say  with  Baxter:  “Nor  should  men 
turn  preachers  as  the  river  Nilus  breeds  frogs  (saith  He¬ 
rodotus),  when  one  half  moveth  before  the  other  half  is 
made ,  and  which  yet  is  but  plain  mud.'' 

It  was  the  hearing  of  a  sermon  while  attending  an 
academy  at  Northampton  which  first  kindled  in  young 
Hall's  breast  the  flame  of  oratory.  It  is  remarkable  that, 
though  burning  and  panting  for  oratorical  renown,  his 
first  efforts,  like  those  of  Sheridan  and  Curran,  were  ig¬ 
nominious  failures.  Attempting  an  address  at  Broad- 
mead  chapel,  he  “stuck"  almost  at  the  beginning.  Speak¬ 
ing  for  a  few  minutes  with  facility,  he  suddenly  stopped, 
covered  his  face  with  his  hands,  and  sobbing  aloud,  “  0, 
I  have  lost  all  my  ideas!’’  burst  into  a  flood  of  tears. 
Even  in  this  failure,  however,  the  audience  had  the  pene¬ 
tration  to  discover  a  species  of  triumph,  declaring,  as  they 
went  away, — “  If  that  young  man  once  acquire  self-pos¬ 
session,  he  will  be  the  most  eminent  speaker  of  his  day." 
A  second  trial  a  week  after,  in  the  same  place,  ended  in 
a  more  agonizing  failure.  This  time  he  did  not  give  way 
to  sobs  and  tears;  but,  springing  from  the  desk  in  a  kind 
of  impatient  rage,  he  hurried  to  the  vestry.'  In  vain  did 
the  deacons  and  other  friends  strive  to  calm  his  excited 
feelings;  dashing  out  of  the  room,  he  hurried  precipitately 


PULPIT  ORATORS  —  HALL. 


393 


home,  and,  entering  his  room,  startled  two  of  his  compan¬ 
ions,  who  were  waiting  his  arrival,  by  exclaiming,  as  he 
struck  the  table  with  his  clinched  hand,  “Well,  if  this 
does  not  humble  me,  the  devil  must  have  me!”  A  third 
trial  was  made,  and  from  that  hour,  though  he  shook  like 
an  aspen-leaf  at  the  proposal,  he  began  to  take  rank  as 
the  most  brilliant  pulpit  orator  of  England. 

Spending  four  years  in  hard  study  at  King’s  College, 
Aberdeen,  he  came  away  with  a  mind  richly  furnished, 
powerful,  and  intensely  active,  and  began  pouring  forth 
its  treasures  of  thought  and  feeling  at  Broadmead,  Bris¬ 
tol.  Though  but  twenty-one  years  old  at  this  time,  he 
drew  crowds,  including  the  most  eminent  men  in  the  city, 
to  hear  him.  Going  next  to  Cambridge,  he  succeeded  to 
Dr.  Robinson,  the  leader  of  the  Evangelical  Nonconform¬ 
ists,  and  during  fourteen  years  preached  to  crowded  houses 
with  ever-increasing  brilliancy  and  power.  The  magnet¬ 
ism  of  his  genius  penetrated  beyond  the  narrow  and  con¬ 
ventional  boundaries  of  sects;  and  senators,  clergymen  of 
the  Established  Church,  and  University  men,  from  under¬ 
graduates  to  heads  of  colleges,  gladly  hung  upon  his  lips. 
At  this  time  the  excesses  of  the  French  Revolution  were 
producing  the  intensest  excitement  in  England,  and  Mr. 
Hall  was  speedily  engulfed  in  the  whirlpool.  The  result 
was  first  a  powerful  pamphlet  “  On  the  Freedom  of  the 
Press,’*  and  next  an  eloquent  and  magnificent  sermon, — 
perhaps  his  masterpiece, —  on  “Modern  Infidelity.”  With 
this  powerful  discourse  the  fame  of  Robert  Hall  attained 
its  zenith.  Dr.  Parr,  Sir  James  Mackintosh,  statesmen  of 
all  parties,  intellectual  men  of  every  rank  and  profession, 
now  hastened  to  do  homage  to  his  genius.  Undergradu¬ 
ates,  tutors,  and  fellows  of  the  University  flocked  in  such 


394 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


numbers  to  hear  him,  that  the  heads  of  colleges  became 
alarmed,  and  discussed  the  expediency  of  preventing  it 
by  an  order;  but  Dr.  Mansel,  afterward  Bishop,  then  Mas¬ 
ter  of  Trinity,  the  largest  college,  declared  he  could  not 
be  party  to  such  a  measure,  and  thanked  Mr.  Hall  not 
only  for  his  sermon,  but  for  his  powerful  efforts  in  behalf 
of  the  Christian  cause.  The  general  thanksgiving  which 
followed  the  Peace  of  Amiens,  brought  forth  his  splendid 
discourse  on  “War”;  and  when,  a  few  months  thereafter, 
Napoleon  suddenly  broke  the  peace,  Hall  delivered  his 
still  more  masterly  discourse  on  “  The  Sentiments  Proper 
to  the  Present  Crisis."  It  was  in  this  ringing  sermon, 
which  has  all  the  fiery  energy  of  a  war-lyric,  that  he 
grandly  declared  England  to  be,  in  respect  to  the  war 
waging  between  liberty  and  despotism,  the  very  “Ther¬ 
mopylae  of  the  universe.” 

A  still  abler  effort  than  this  last  was  his  discourse  on  the 
death  of  the  Princess  Charlotte,  delivered  at  Leicester,  the 
scene  of  his  next  pastorate.  A  nation  was  weeping  over  the 
extinction  of  its  hopes,  and  genius  poured  out  its  strains 
of  grief  and  admiration  in  a  thousand  pulpits;  but  not 
one  of  the  other  discourses,  eloquent  as  many  of  them 
were,  could  for  a  moment  compare  in  majesty  of  thought 
and  diction  with  the  tribute  which  this  dissenter  and 
radical  thinker, — this  reformer  and  friend  of  the  people, 
—  laid  at  the  feet  of  a  Christian  princess.  “In  reading 
it,”  says  a  writer,  “  one  marvels  at  the  imperial  grandeur 
of  the  execution,  as  the  mighty  preacher  groups  together 
and  manages  with  a  master-hand,  and  with  the  apparent 
ease  of  a  child  at  play,  the  various  momentous  considera¬ 
tions  which  the  event  was  fitted  to  awaken  in  a  mind 
capable  of  a  comprehensive  survey.” 


PULPIT  ORATORS  —  HALL. 


395 


To  analyze  the  eloquence  of  Robert  Hall,  and  point  out 
the  sources  of  its  power,  is  not  an  easy  task.  His  pub¬ 
lished  sermons,  most  of  which  are  from  the  scanty  notes  of 
his  hearers,  give,  according  to  all  the  accounts  of  him,  but 
a  faint  idea  of  his  imperial  genius.  In  the  redistillation 
the  aroma  has  fled.  The  effect  is  like  that  of  “  champagne 
in  decanters,  or  Herodotus  in  Beloe’s  version."  A  late 
skeptical  writer  pronounces  him  “  the  sublimest  and  purest 
genius  among  modern  divines.”  *  For  forty  years  he  had 
no  rival  in  the  English  pulpit.  During  this  long  time 
men  of  all  sects  and  parties,  men  of  the  highest  intellect 
and  culture,  the  leaders  of  the  Church,  the  Bar,  and  the 
Senate,  sat  with  rapt  attention  under  the  spell  of  his 
speech.  What  was  the  secret  of  this  attraction?  Was 
it  in  his  personal  magnetism, —  the  majesty  of  his  mien, 
.his  gestures,  or  the  musical  intonations  of  his  voice?  Or 
was  it  in  his  rhetorical  skill,  the  exquisite  arrangement 
and  rhythmical  flow  of  his  periods,  and  the  dazzling  im¬ 
agery  in  which  his  affluent  imagination  clothed  his  ideas? 
In  many  of  these  oratorical  gifts  he  was  wanting.  He  had 
a  large-built,  robust  figure,  and  a  countenance  “  formed, 
as  if  on  purpose,  for  the  most  declared  manifestation  of 
power”;  but  all  his  life  he  was  a  sufferer  from  acute 
physical  pains,  necessitating  the  use  of  large  doses  of  stim¬ 
ulants  and  narcotics;  his  voice  was  weak,  his  action  heavy 
and  ungraceful,  and  in  all  the  tricks  of  the  rhetorician, 
the  pomp  and  circumstance  of  oratory,  he  was  lacking 
altogether.  His  style,  while  it  has  great  vigor  and  im¬ 
pressiveness,  is  too  highly  Latinized  to  be  popular;  it 
abounds  in  technical  phrases  and  abstract  forms  of  ex¬ 
pression,  and,  except  in  certain  highly-wrought  passages, 

*  W.  R.  Greg,  author  of  “The  Creed  of  Christendom.” 


396 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


is  quite  devoid  of  pictorial  embellishment.  It  was,  appar¬ 
ently,  in  no  one  predominant  quality  that  his  power  lay, 

but  in  the  harmony  and  momentum  in  action  of  all  his 

*/ 

faculties, —  faculties  which,  whether  of  mind  or  heart,  have 
rarely  been  so  admirably  adjusted  and  finely  proportioned 
in  any  other  human  being. 

In  natural  endowment  and  variety  of  acquisition,  in 
power  of  metaphysical  analysis  and  in  force  and  sweep 
of  imagination,  in  finished  scholarship  and  in  philosophical 
Culture,  he  was  equally  distinguished;  and  over  all  his 
powers  of  mind,  natural  and  acquired,  he  had  an  absolute 
mastery,  rendering  them  obedient  at  a  nod.  His  eloquence 
was  not  the  product  of  art,  but  the  spontaneous  outgush- 
ing  of  a  mind  full  to  bursting  of  intellectual  riches,  and 
of  a  heart  burning  with  zeal  for  truth,  and  love  for  God 
and  man.  When  he  was  thoroughly  roused,  his  orator}^ 
was  like  an  impetuous  mountain  torrent  in  a  still  night. 
He  took  his  place  among  the  kings  of  oratory,  not  because 
he  sought  for  it,  but  because  it  was  his  by  divine  gift.  A 
systematic  reader,  he  was  also  a  profound  and  untram¬ 
meled  thinker,  and  was  eloquent  because  he  was  tethered 
by  no  theological  chain,  and  spoke  out  courageously  what 
was  in  him,  even  at  the  risk  of  startling  orthodox  nerves. 

His  manner  in  the  pulpit  was  as  original  as  the  man. 
The  introductory  services  were  usually  performed  by  an 
assistant,  during  which,  we  are  told,  the  preacher,  with 
his  eyes  closed,  his  features  as  still  as  death,  and  his  head 
sinking  down  almost  on  his  chest,  presented  an  image  of 
entire  abstraction.  For  a  moment,  perhaps,  he  would  seem 
to  wake  to  a  perception  of  the  scene  before  him,  but  would 
instantly  relapse  into  the  same  state.  When  he  began  a 
discourse,  there  was  usually  little  expression  in  his  coun- 


PULPIT  ORATORS  —  HALL.  397 

tenance:  and  sometimes,  when  he  was  not  much  excited 
by  his  themes,  or  was  suffering  from  physical  pain,  there 
was  little  expression  during  the  entire  delivery.  At 
other  times  his  face  would  kindle  as  he  went  on,  and 
toward  the  close  would  “light  up  almost  into  a  glare/' 
He  would  announce  his  text  in  the  most  unpretending 
manner  imaginable,  and,  though  athletic  in  frame,  would 
speak  for  some  minutes  in  a  tone  so  low  as  to  be  barely 
audible.  During  even  the  first  twenty  minutes  there 
would  be  nothing  in  his  discourse  indicating  to  his  hear- 
ers  that  a  giant  stood  before  them;  all  the  time,  perhaps, 
he  would  be  pulling  the  leaves  of  his  Bible,  “  as  if  he 
were  a  bookbinder,  engaged  in  taking  a  book  to  pieces, 
while  his  eyes  would  be  steadfastly  fixed  in  one  direction, 
as  if  his.  whole  audience  were  gathered  into  one  corner 
of  the  room."  Presently  the  scene  would  change;  his 
voice  would  swell  from  an  almost  unintelligible  whisper 
to  a  trumpet  peal;  and  when  he  was  concluding,  the  ef¬ 
fect  upon  the  nervous  system  of  the  listener  was  like 
the  shock  of  artillery. 

One  of  the  most  obvious  and  noteworthy  of  Mr.  Hall’s 
characteristics  as  a  preacher,  was  the  total  oblivion  of 
self, —  his  utter  abandonment  and  absorption  in  his  sub¬ 
ject.  “  There  was  not  the  semblance  of  parade,"  says  an 
American  clergyman*  who  once  heard  him  at  Broadmead 
Chapel, — “  nothing  that  betrayed  the  least  thought  of  be¬ 
ing  eloquent;  but  there  was  a  power  of  thought,  a  grace 
and  beauty,  and  yet  force  of  expression,  a  facility  of  com¬ 
manding  the  best  language,  without  apparently  thinking 
of  the  language  at  all,  combined  with  a  countenance  all 
glowing  from  the  fire  within,  which  constituted  a  fascina- 
*  “Visits  to  European  Celebrities,”  by  W.  B.  Sprague,  D.D. 


398 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


tion  that  was  to  me  perfectly  irresistible.”  John  Foster, 
who  often  heard  Mr.  Hall,  notes  one,  and  only  one,  pecu¬ 
liarity  of  action  in  his  friend’s  preaching.  Under  the  ex¬ 
citement  of  his  theme,  when  it  rose  to  the  highest  pitch, 
he  unconsciously  acquired  a  corresponding  elation  of  at¬ 
titude  and  expression;  would  turn,  though  not  with  fre¬ 
quent  change,  toward  the  different  parts  of  the  assembty; 
and  would,  for  a  moment,  make  one  step  back  from  his 
position  at  the  last  word  of  a  climax,  or  at  the  sentence 
which  decisively  clinched  an  argument, —  an  action  which 
inevitably  suggested  the  idea  of  the  recoil  of  heavy  ord¬ 
nance. 

Original  as  Mr.  Hall  was,  in  thought  and  manner,  he 
twice  in  his  youth  aped  the  manner  of  another.  When 
he  was  twenty-three  years  old  he  heard  Dr.  Robinson,  of 
Cambridge,  and  was  so  captivated  that  he  thought  he 
would  copy  his  style,  matter,  and  manner.  Like  other 
imitators,  he  made  an  utter  failure.  When,  some  years 
afterward,  a  friend  alluded  to  this,  Mr.  Hall  said:  “Why, 
sir,  I  was  too  proud  to  remain  an  imitator.  After  my 
second  trial,  as  I  was  walking  home,  I  heard  one  of  the 
congregation  say  to  another,  ‘  Really,  Mr.  Hall  did  remind 
us  of  Mr.  Robinson.’  That  was  a  knock-down  blow  to 
my  vanity,  and  I  at  once  resolved  that,  if  ever  I  did  ac¬ 
quire  reputation,  it  should  belong  to  my  own  character, 
and  not  be  that  of  a  likeness.  Besides,  sir,  if  I  had  not 
been  a  foolish  young  man,  I  should  have  seen  how  ridic¬ 
ulous  it  was  to  imitate  such  a  preacher  as  Mr.  Robinson. 
He  had  a  musical  voice,  and  was  master  of  its  intona¬ 
tions;  he  had  wonderful  self-possession,  and  could  say 
what  he  pleased,  ivhen  he  pleased,  and  how  he  pleased; 
while  my  voice  and  manner  were  naturally  bad;  and  far 


PULPIT  ORATORS — HALL. 


899 


from  having  self-command,  I  never  entered  the  pulpit 
without  omitting  to  say  something  I  wished  to  say,  and 
saying  something  that  I  wished  unsaid;  and  besides  all 
this,  I  ought  to  have  known  that  for  me  to  speak  slow 
teas  ruin.  You  know,  sir,  that  force  or  momentum  is 
conjointly  as  the  body  and  velocity;  therefore,  as  my  voice 
is  feeble,  what  is  wanted  in  body  must  be  made  up  in 
velocity,  or  there  will  not  be,  cannot  be,  any  impression.” 
At  another  time  he  tried  the  elephantine  manner  of  Dr. 
Johnson:  “Yes,  sir,  I  aped  Johnson  and  I  preached  John¬ 
son,  and,  I  am  afraid,  with  little  more  of  evangelical  sen¬ 
timent  than  is  to  be  found  in  his  essays;  but  it  was 
youthful  folly,  and  it  was  very  great  folly.  I  might  as 
well  have  attempted  to  dance  a  hornpipe  in  the  cum¬ 
brous  costume  of  Gog  and  Magog.  My  puny  thoughts 
could  not  sustain  the  load  of  words  in  which  I  tried  to 
clothe  them.”  But  though  he  abandoned  Johnson  as  a 
model,  there  is  considerable  resemblance  between  the  struc¬ 
ture  of  his  sentences  and  those  of  the  author  of  the  “  Ram¬ 
bler.”  He  employs  simpler  words  and  shorter  sentences, 
but  avails  himself  of  “  all  the  arts  of  the  balance,  from 
the  ponderous  swing  to  the  sharp  emphatic  point.” 

It  is  an  interesting  fact  that  Mr.  Hall,  who  so  habit¬ 
ually  “  spoke  as  he  was  moved,”  and  not  for  effect,  was, 
at  one  time, —  probably  at  an  early  period  of  his  life, — 
tormented  by  a  desire  of  preaching  better  than  he  could; 
and  yet  lie  says  that  to  his  ear  it  would  have  been  any¬ 
thing  but  commendation,  had  any  one  said  to  him:  “You 
have  given  us  a  pretty  sermon.”  “  If  I  were  upon  trial 
for  my  life,”  he  adds,  “  and  my  advocate  should  amuse 
the  jury  with  his  tropes  and  figures,  burying  his  argu¬ 
ment  beneath  a  profusion  of  flowers  of  rhetoric,  I  would 


400 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


say  to  him:  ‘Tut,  man,  you  care  more  for  your  vanity 
than  for  my  hanging.  Put  yourself  in  my  place,  speak  in 
view  of  the  gallows ,  and  you  will  tell  your  story  plainly 
and  earnestly."  I  have  no  objections  to  a  lady’s  winding 
a  sword  with  ribbons,  and  studding  it  with  roses,  when 
she  presents  it  to  her  lover;  but  in  the  day  of  battle  he 
will  tear  away  the  ornaments,  and  present  the  naked 
edge  to  the  enemy.” 

A  striking  contrast  to  the  style  of  Robert  Hall  was  that 
of  the  great  pulpit  orator  of  Scotland,  Dr.  Chalmers.  It 
would  be  hard  to  name  an  orator  of  equal  fame  who  had 
so  few  of  the  usual  external  helps  and  ornaments  of  elo¬ 
quence;  and  hence  the  first  feeling  of  almost  every  hearer 
whom  his  fame  had  attracted,  was  a  shock  of  disappoint¬ 
ment.  As  he  rose  to  speak,  and  the  hearer  contrasted 
with  his  ideal  of  an  orator,  or  with  his  preconceived  no¬ 
tions,  the  middle-sized,  and  somewhat  strange  and  uncouth 
figure  before  him,  with  its  broad  but  not  lofty  forehead, 
its  prominent  cheek  bones,  and  its  drooping,  lack-lustre 
eyes;  as  he  observed  the  abrupt  and  awkward  manner, 
apparently  indicating  embarrassment  or  irreverence,  or 
both,  and  listened  to  the  harsh  croaking  tones,  the  broad 
Fifeshire  tongue,*  while  the  speaker  bent  over  his  manu¬ 
script,  and  following  it  with  his  finger,  read  every  word 
like  a  schoolboy, —  it  seemed  incredible  that  this  could  be 
the  man  who  had  stormed  the  hearts  of  his  countrymen 
for  more  than  thirty  years,  and  whose  published  discourses 
had  rivalled  in  their  sale  the  productions  of  the  great 
Wizard  of  the  North.  All  this,  however,  was  but  the 

*  He  pronounced  “parish”  as  if  it  were  written  “ paarishf  and  the  words 
”  issue  of  which  ”  as  if  they  spelt  “  isshy  of  whach." 


PULPIT  ORATORS  —  CHALMERS. 


401 


gathering  of  the  clouds  as  a  prelude  to  dazzling  and  flash¬ 
ing  outbursts  of  lightning,  and  to  the  reverberating  thun¬ 
der-peals  in  the  heavens.  Gradually  the  great  preacher 
would  unveil  himself;  the  ungainly  attitude,  the  constraint 
and  awkwardness,  the  vacant  look,  and  feebleness  of  voice 
and  manner,  would  be  cast  aside,  or  if  in  some  degree 
retained,  would  be  overlooked  by  the  hearer  in  the  deep¬ 
ening  interest  of  the  theme;  the  voice,  though  still  harsh 
and  unmusical,  would  ring  out  and  thrill  like  a  clarion; 
the  eye,  which  was  so  dull  and  half-closed,  would  be 
lighted  up  with  intelligence;  the  breast  would  heave,  and 
the  body  sway  to  and  fro,  with  the  tumult  of  the  thought; 
voice  and  face  would  seem  bursting  with  the  fury  of  ex¬ 
citement,  while  his  person  was  bathed  with  perspiration; 
the  words,  before  so  slow,  would  leap  forth  with  the 
rapidity  and  force  of  a  mountain  torrent;  argument  would 
follow  argument,  illustration  would  follow  illustration,  and 
appeal  would  follow  appeal,  in  quick  succession,  till  at  last 
all  hearts  were  subdued,  and  carried  captive  by  the  flood 
of  an  overwhelming  and  resistless  eloquence. 

If  we  may  believe  Mr.  Lockhart,  the  world  never  pos¬ 
sessed  an  orator  whose  minutest  peculiarities  of  gesture 
and  voice  had  more  power  in  increasing  the  effect  of  what 
he  said, —  whose  delivery  was  the  first,  the  second,  and  the 
third  excellence  of  his  oratoiy,  more  truly  than  was  that 
of  Dr.  Chalmers.  Hazlitt  depicts  him  as  looking  like  a 
man  in  mortal  throes  and  agonies  with  doubts  and  diffi¬ 
culties,  and  asserts  that  the  description  of  Balfour  of  Bur¬ 
ley  in  his  cave,  with  his  Bible  in  one  hand  and  his  sword 
in  the  other,  contending  with  the  imaginary  enemy  of 
mankind,  gasping  for  breath,  and  with  the  cold  moisture 

running  down  his  face,  gives  no  inadequate  idea  of  Chal- 
17* 


402 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


mers’s  prophetic  fury  in  the  pulpit.  Another  writer  was 
so  struck  with  his  prodigious  energy,  his  native  feral 
force,  that  he  declares  that,  had  it  not  been  intellectual- 
ized  and  sanctified,  it  would  have  “  made  him,  who  was 
the  greatest  of  orators,  the  strongest  of  ruffians,  a  mighty 
murderer  upon  the  earth/’ 

One  of  the  most  striking  features  in  Chalmers’s  ora¬ 
tory  was  his  iteration.  Few  speakers  have  surpassed  him 
in  the  ability  to  compose  variations  on  a  given  theme,  and 
it  was  to  this  that  he  owed  much  of  his  success  in  charm¬ 
ing  the  popular  ear.  Robert  Hall  declared  that  even 
Burke  had  less  of  this  peculiarity;  an  idea  thrown  into 
the  mind  of  the  great  Scotch  preacher,  he  said,  “  is  just 
as  if  thrown  into  a  kaleidoscope.  Every  turn  presents 
the  object  in  a  new  and  beautiful  form;  but  the  object 
presented  is  just  the  same.  His  mind  seems  to  move  on 
hinges,  not  on  wheels.  There  is  incessant  motion,  but  no 
progress.''  One  idea! — yes,  but  what  an  idea  it  is!  “One, 
but  a  lion! ’’said  the  lioness  in  the  fable,  when  another 
animal,  that  boasted  of  its  numerous  but  insignificant  off¬ 
spring,  reproached  her  with  her  want  of  fecundity.  “  The 
one  idea  of  Chalmers,”  says  the  eloquent  Bethune,  “  is 
worth  a  month’s  preaching  from  the  critics  who  cavil  at 
him.”  It  must  be  admitted  in  the  great  Scotchman's 
favor,  that  what  was  only  a  rigid  unity  in  his  discourses 
was  often  confounded  with  an  absolute  sameness  of  ideas. 
The  cast  of  his  mind  was  mathematical  ;  and  hence,  in¬ 
stead  of  accumulating  arguments  in  support  of  a  propo¬ 
sition,  and  maintaining  it  by  their  united  weight,  he  was 
wont  to  bring  forward  a  single  decisive  reason,  grouping 
about  it  all  his  facts  and  illustrations,  and  drawing  it 
out  link  by  link  with  untiring  continuity  and  never 


PULPIT  ORATO RS  —  C H A LMERS. 


403 


wearying  iteration.  Beginning  with  a  statement  of  his 
thought  as  a  whole,  he  proceeded  to  develop  it  more  par¬ 
ticularly  and  slowly  in  the  subsequent  parts  of  his  dis¬ 
course;  and  because  he  thus  adhered  tenaciously  to  the 
one  point  he  had  in  view,  some  critics  hastily  concluded 
that  he  had  all  the  while  been  only  amplifying  some 
small  thought  with  which  he  had  started.  But  if  he 
hurled  but  one  idea  at  the  audience,  it  was  hurled  with 
a  giant’s  force,  and  was  no  pigmy  thought,  but  “  reminded 
one  of  the  missiles  thrown  by  the  holy  angels  in  their 
fight  with  Satan’s  legions,  when  they 

‘Main  promontories  flung, -which  iii  the  air 

Came  shadowing,  and  oppressed  whole  legions  arm’d.’  ” 

The  overwhelming  effect  of  Chalmers’s  oratory  is  the  more 
remarkable  when  we  consider  that  he  preached  from  man¬ 
uscript  only,  and,  except  for  a  brief  season,  did  not  extem¬ 
porize.  At  an  early  period  in  his  career,  Andrew  Fuller, 
the  Baptist  preacher  and  theologian,  heard  him  preach, 
and  declared:  “If  that  man  would  but  throw  away  his 
papers  in  the  pulpit,  he  might  be  King  of  Scotland/’  He 
threw  away  his  papers,  and  again  and  again  tried  to  ex¬ 
temporize  ;  but  every  attempt  ended  in  failure.  It  was 
not  that  he  lacked  nerve,  memory,  intellectual  energy,  or 
abundance  of  thought;  on  the  contrary,  he  suffered  from 
an  overmastering  fluency  of  mind,  from  mental  plethora. 
He  used  to  say  of  himself  that  he  was  like  Rousseau, 
“  slow  but  ardent ,”  and  compared  himself  to  a  bottle  full 
of  liquid;  when  suddenly  turned  up,  it  cannot  flow  at 
first,  from  its  very  fullness,  and  only  bursts  and  splutters. 
He  therefore  wisely  abandoned  all  further  attempts  to  ex¬ 
temporize,  and  ever  afterward  read  his  sermons, —  a  pro¬ 
cedure  which  would  seem  fatal  to  the  electric  effects  they 


404 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


produced,  did  we  not  know  from  the  examples  of  Newman 
Hall,  George  Thompson,  Lord  Brougham,  and  many  other 
eloquent  speakers,  that  a  man  may  hold  an  audience  with 
a  manuscript  as  truly,  if  not  as  long  and  as  spell-bound, 
as  without  one.  In  this  matter  no  Procrustean  rule  can 
be  made  for  all  speakers  ;  that  is  the  best  cat  which  catches 
the  most  mice,  and  that  is  the  best  way  of  preaching,  in 
a  particular  case,  which  enables  one  to  win  the  most  souls. 
The  secret  of  Chalmers’s  success  under  the  disadvantages 
we  have  named,  was  the  intensity  and  impetuosity  of  his 
temperament, —  the  warm  human  feeling  which  possessed 
him, —  leading  him  to  compose,  not  only  his  sermons,  but 
his  other  writings  not  intended  for  oral  delivery,  with  the 
constant  sense  of  an  assemblage  of  people  before  him. 

The  moment  he  took  up  his  pen  in  the  study,  he 
throbbed  and  glowed  and  mentally  thundered  as  if  stand' 
ing  up  before  the  listening  multitude.  He  had  always, 

we  are  told,  this  stimulus  -of  the  great  orator,  even  in 

> 

the  privacy  of  the  closet,  and  in  the  silence  and  solitari¬ 
ness  of  midnight  study.  “  He  wrote  everything  to  be 
spoken;  he  wrote  everything  as  if  he  were  speaking  it, 
at  least  in  feeling,  if  not  in  actual  sounds;  he  wrote 
everything'  with  an  audience  glaring  in  his  face.  Hence 
his  sermons  have  all  the  advantage,  all  the  verve  and 
palpitation,  of  direct  extempore  address.  They  have  none 
of  the  chilliness  of  discourses  written  before,  nor  the  luke¬ 
warmness  of  discourses  served  up  after  the  delivery.  From 
the  peculiarity  of  which  we  have  spoken,  they  have  all 
the  pith  of  preparation,  and  all  the  quick  leap  of  im¬ 
promptu."  Not  only  did  he  write  with  this  inspiration 
of  the  speaker,  as  if  thousands  were  hanging  upon  his 
words,  but  he  wrote  with  great  rapidity,  rarely  pausing 


PULPIT  ORATORS  —  CHALMERS. 


405 


to  choose  his  words,  though  spending  much  time  upon 
the  thought;  and  hence  his  discourses  have  “all  the 
bounding  liveliness  of  improvisation." 

The  manuscript,  from  which  he  poured  forth  his  ideas 
with  a  force  and  fervor  rarely  equaled  by  an  impromptu 
speaker,  was  never  thought  of  by  those  who  were  thrilled 
by  his  oratory.  An  old  woman  is  reported  to  have  said 
of  him,  “Ah,  it’s  fell  reading,  yon!''  “I  know  not  what 
it  is,"  said  the  fastidious  Jeffrey,  after  hearing  him  in 
1816,  “  but  there  is  something  altogether  remarkable 
about  that  man!  It  reminds  me  more  of  what  one  reads 
of  as  the  effect  of  the  eloquence  of  Demosthenes  than 
anything  I  ever  heard.' ’  The  brilliant  Canning,  who 
went  with  Wilberforce,  Huskisson,  and  Lord  Binning  to 
hear  Chalmers,  in  London,  in  1817,  was  melted  to  tears. 
Though  disappointed  at  first,  he  said,  as  he  left  the  church, 
“The  tartan  beats  us  all!’'  We  are  told  that  Professor 
Young,  of  Glasgow,  scarcely  ever  heard  Chalmers  without 
weeping  like  a  child;  and  upon  one  occasion,  Dr.  Hanna 
tells  us,  he  was  so  electrified  that  he  leaped  up  from  his 
seat  on  the  bench,  and  stood  breathless  and  motionless, 
gazing  at  the  preacher  till  the  burst  was  over,  the  tears 
all  the  while  rolling  down  his  cheeks;  and  on  another 
occasion,  forgetful  of  time  and  place, —  fancying  himself, 
perhaps,  in  the  theatre, —  he  rose  and  loudly  clapped  his 
hands  in  the  ecstasy  of  his  delight. 

But  the  most  striking  illustration  of  the  great  preach¬ 
er’s  power  is  furnished  by  an  incident  which  occurred  in 
Rowland  Hill’s  Chapel,  London,  as  the  great  Scotchman 
was  preaching  there  a  little  after  his  fame  had  traveled 
beyond  the  precincts  of  Scotland.  His  audience  was  nu¬ 
merous  and  principally  of  the  higher  circles.  Upwards  of 


406 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


one  hundred  clergymen  were  present,  to  whom  the  front 
seats  in  the  gallery  were  appropriated.  In  the  midst  of 
these  sat  Hill,  in  a  state  of  great  anxiety,  arising  from 
his  hopes,  and  fearful  lest  Chalmers  should  not  succeed 
before  an  audience  so  refined  and  critical.  The  doctor 
as  usual  began  in  his  low,  monotonous  tone,  and  his 
broad  provincial  dialect  was  visibly  disagreeable  to  the 
delicate  ears  of  his  metropolitan  "audience.  Poor  Hill 
was  now  upon  the  rack;  but  the  man  of  God,  having 
thrown  his  chain  around  the  audience,  took  an  unguard¬ 
ed  moment  to  touch  it  with  the  electric  fluid  of  his  ora¬ 
tory,  and  in  a  moment  every  heart  began  to  throb  and 
every  eye  to  fill.  Knowing  well  how  to  take  advantage 
of  this  bold  stroke,  he  continued  to  ascend;  and  so  majes¬ 
tic  and  rapid  was  his  flight,  that  in  a  few  minutes  he  at¬ 
tained  an  eminence  so  high  that  every  imagination  was 
enraptured.  The  rapid  change  from  depression  to  elation 
which  Hill  experienced,  was  too  much  for  him  to  bear. 
He  felt  so  bewildered  and  intoxicated  with  joy,  that  un- 
consciouslv  lie  started  from  his  seat,  and  before  his  breth- 
ren  could  interfere,  he  struck  the  front  of  the  gallery 
with  his  clinched  fist,  and  roared  out  with  a  stentorian 
voice, — “Well  done ,  Chalmers!" 


CHAPTER  XIV. 


A  PLEA  FOR  ORATORICAL  CULTURE. 

TN  the  preceding  chapters  of  this  work  we  have  at- 
tempted  to  point  out  and  illustrate  the  aim,  power, 
and  influence  of  the  public  speaker.  To  give  to  the  noblest 
thoughts  the  noblest  expression;  to  penetrate  the  souls  of 
men,  and  make  them  feel  as  if  they  were  new  creatures, 
conscious  of  new  powers  and  loftier  purposes;  to  make 
truth  and  justice,  wisdom  and  virtue,  patriotism  and  re¬ 
ligion,  holier  and  more  majestic  things  than  men  had  ever 
dreamed  them  to  be  before;  to  delight  as  well  as  to  con¬ 
vince;  to  charm,  to  win,  to  arouse,  to  calm,  to  warn,  to 
enlighten,  and  to  persuade, —  this  is  the  function  of  the 
orator.  In  concluding  this  work,  let  us  ask  whether  in 
view  of  the  prodigious  influence  of  his  art,  its  cultivation 
should  be  neglected,  as  it  comparatively  is,  both  by  indi¬ 
viduals  and  in  our  schools  and  colleges?  We  say  “pro¬ 
digious”  influence,  for,  after  every  allowance  has  been 
made  for  the  supposed  diminution  of  that  influence  in 
modern  times,  we  still  believe  that  there  is  no  other  accom¬ 
plishment  for  which  there  is  so  constant  a  demand  in  the 
church,  in  the  senate,  at  the  bar,  in  the  lecture-room,  at 
the  hustings,  and  elsewhere,  or  which  ,raises  its  possessor 
to  power  with  equal  rapidity.  Some  of  the  most  fiery 
themes  of  eloquence  may  have  passed  away  with  the  occa¬ 
sions  of  tyranny,  outrage,  and  oppression  that  created 

407 


408 


ORATORY  ANI)  ORATORS. 


them;  but  though  the  age  of  “Philippics”  has  happily 
gone,  yet  so  long  as  wickedness  and  misery,  injustice  and 
wretchedness,  prevail  on  the  earth, —  so  long  as  the  Millen¬ 
nium  is  still  distant,  and  Utopia  a  dream, —  the  voice  of  the 
orator  will  still  be  invoked  to  warn,  to  denounce,  to  terrify, 
and  to  overwhelm.  Hobbes  defined  a  republic  to  be  an 
aristocracy  of  orators,  interrupted  at  times  by  the  mon¬ 
archy  of  a  single  orator:  and  assuredly  in  a  country  like 
ours,  where  the  grandest  rewards  and  the  proudest  positions 
are  the  prizes  open  to  successful  eloquence,  we  may  well 
wonder  that  so  few  strive  for  mastery  in  the  race  “  where 
that  immortal  garland  is  to  be  won,  not  without  dust  and 
heat.”  How  shall  we  account  for  this  neglect?  Is  there 
any  adequate  reason  why  the  art  of  persuasive  speaking- 
should  be  less  thoroughly  studied  and  understood,  or  less 
effectually  practiced  now,  than  at  any  former  period  in  our 
country’s  history?  Is  there  any  necessity  that  the  fearful 
faults  in  attitude,  tone,  and  gesture,  exhibited  in  the 
oratory  of  the  pulpit,  the  bar,  and  the  platform,  at  the 
present  day,  should  be  perpetuated?  Is  it  pardonable  that 
in  professions  whose  most  effective  and  conspicuous  func¬ 
tion  employs  the  voice  as  its  instrument,  there  should  be 
so  little  recognition  of  the  importance  of  improving  that 
instrument,  and  of  rendering  it  as  capable  as  possible  of 
producing  its  legitimate  effects?  Is  it  necessary  that  the 
majority  of  pulpit  speakers  should  read  the  hymns,  as 
they  do,  without  feeling,  grace,  or  appreciation,  as  the  clerk 
of  a  legislative  assembly  might  properly  read  a  bill,  or 
as  a  lawyer’s  clerk  might  read  an  inventory  of  a  bank¬ 
rupt's  assets?  Is  it  desirable  that  when  they  deliver 
their  sermons,  they  should  cling  to  the  velvet  cushion 
with  both  hands,  keep  their  eyes  glued  to  the  written  page, 


409 


A  PLEA  FOR  ORATORICAL  CULTURE. 

and  speak  of  the  ecstasies  of  joy  and  fear  with  a  voice  and 
face  which  indicate  neither?  Is  it  desirable  that  “every 
semi-delirious  sectary  who  pours  forth  his  animated  non¬ 
sense  with  the  genuine  voice  and  look  of  passion,  should 
gesticulate  away  the  congregation  of  the  most  profound 
and  learned  divine"  who  has  had  a  liberal  education, 
“  and  in  two  Sundays  preach  him  bare  to  the  very  sex¬ 
ton'’?  Why  “call  in  the  aid  of  paralysis  to  piety?  Is 
sin  to  be  taken  from  men,  as  Eve  was  from  Adam,  by 
casting  them  into  a  deep  slumber”? 

That  the  cultivation  of  oratory  is  thus  neglected  at 
the  present  day,  needs,  we  think,  no  proof.  More  than 
forty  years  ago  a  writer  in  the  “  North  American  Review" 
bewailed  this  neglect  in  the  following  words:  “Anything,” 
says  he,  “  like  settled,  concentrated,  patient  effort  for  im¬ 
provement  in  oratory;  anything  like  an  effort  running 
through  the  whole  course  of  education,  renewed  with  every 
day  as  the  great  object,  and  pursued  into  the  discharge 
of  professional  duties,  is  scarcely  known  among  us.  The 
mass  of  our  public  speakers  would  as  soon  think  of  tak¬ 
ing  up  some  mechanical  trade  or  subsidiary  occupation 
of  life  as  they  would  think  of  adopting  Cicero’s  practice 
of  daily  declamations.  We  do  not  believe  that,  on  an 
average,  our  clergymen  have  spent  ten  weeks  of  prepara¬ 
tion  on  this  most  important  part  of  their  professional 
duties.”  To-day,  this  neglect  is  even  more  marked.  Not 
a  year  passes  but  we  see  hundreds  of  young  men  turned 
out  of  our  colleges  whose  failure  in  public  life  is  assured 
in  advance,  because  they  have  acquired,  and  probably  will 
acquire,  no  mastery  of  the  arts  of  expression.  Men  with  a 
tithe  of  their  knowledge  and  a  tithe  of  their  culture  out¬ 
strip  them  in  the  race  of  life,  because,  though  they  know 
18 


410 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


less,  they  have  been  unwearied  in  their  efforts  to  acquire 
the  art  of  communicating  what  they  know  in  a  pleasing 
and  attractive  way.  In  many  of  our  colleges  not  only  is 
no  provision  made  for  the  study  of  elocution,  but  the  study 
is  discouraged  by  the  absorbing  attention  demanded  by 
other  studies.  Skill  in  oratory  is  identified  with  intellect¬ 
ual  shallowness ;  and  it  seems  to  be  feared  that  if  a  young 
man  once  begins  earnestly  to  cultivate  his  voice,  he  is  in 
danger  of  becoming  vox  et  preterea  nihil.  A  leading  New 
York  journal  stated  a  year  or  two  ago,  that  it  knew  of 
a  college,  the  speaking  of  whose  students  at  one  of  its 
commencements  ought  to  have  been  felt  by  its  officers  as 
a  burning  disgrace,  whose  trustees,  nevertheless,  rejected 
the  application  of  a  teacher  of  reputation  and  experience 
to  be  permitted  to  give  gratuitous  instruction  in  that 
branch  of  education, —  for  what  reason,  do  you  think,  can¬ 
did  reader?  Not  because  they  questioned  the  competency 
of  the  teacher,  but  because  they  “ didn't  believe  in  teaching 
elocution  at  all!"  Even  in  those  colleges  where  lessons 
in  elocution  are  given,  the  instruction,  in  many  instances, 
does  not  exceed,  during  the  whole  four  years’  course,  six 
weeks  of  teaching, —  a  treatment  of  the  art  which,  in  view 
of  its  difficulty  and  value,  is  only  a  sham  and  a  mockery. 

In  nearly  all  our  theological  seminaries  the  art  of 
oratory  is  treated  with  similar  neglect,  not  to  say  con¬ 
tempt.  In  the  theological  equipment  of  their  pupils,  no 
pains  are  spared.  The  newly-fledged  graduate  is  well 
versed  in  church  history,  and  knows  all  the  shades  of 
religious  belief,  ancient  and  modern.  He  can  tell  you 
who  Novatus  was,  and  who  Novatian.  He  can  tell  you 
to  a  nicety  the  difference  between  Homoousians  and  Ho- 
moiusians,  Pelagians  and  Semi-Pelagians,  Monophysites  and 


A  PLEA  FOR  ORATORICAL  CULTURE. 


411 


Monothelites,  Jansenists  and  Molinists.  He  has  explored 
all  the  transactions  of  the  Councils  of  Nice,  Chaleedon, 
Trent,  and  Dort;  he  can  give  you  a  minute  history  of  all 
the  controversies  that  have  vexed  the  peace  of  the  church, 
recite  the  sixteen  articles  of  the  Priscillian  creed,  and  tell 
you  whether  filioque  is  properly  in  the  creed  of  the  Latin 
church,  and  what  was  the  precise  heresy  of  Eutyches.  He 
can  read  Hebrew  with  tolerable  facility,  and  can  split 
hairs  in  metaphysical  theology,  if  not  with  Hermaic  sub- 
tilty,  at  least  with  skill  enough  to  puzzle  and  baffle  an 
ordinary  caviller.  But  while  he  has  crammed  his  head 
with  knowledge,  he  has  never  once  learned  how  to  make 
an  effectual  use  of  his  knowledge.  While  he  has  packed 
his  brain  with  history  and  Hebrew  and  exegesis,  he  is 
either  uneducated  in  the  all-important  art  of  communi¬ 
cating  the  results  of  his  erudition  in  a  fascinating,  or,  at 
least,  unforbidding  way,  or  he  has  been  instructed  to 
despise  that  art.  He  has  acted  like  a  man  who  spends 
years  in  gathering  materials  for  the  erection  of  a  mighty 
edifice,  yet  never  attempts  to  arrange  them  in  an  order 
which  will  secure  beauty,  strength,  or  convenience.  There 
is  no  doubt  that  many  a  sermon  which  has  been  written 
with  burning  t6ars  in  the  study,  has  been  struck,  as  if 
b}"  magic,  with  the  coldness  of  death  in  the  pulpit.  The 
preacher  who  was  all  alive  a  few  hours  before  is  trans¬ 
formed  into  a  marble  statue. 

What  is  the  cause  of  this  neglect  of  elocution, —  wheth¬ 
er  it  is  because,  as  has  been  charged,  these  seminaries 
“  freeze  the  genial  current  of  the  soul,”  and  generate  a 
kind  of  fine,  high-bred  sanctified  disdain  of  heartiness  and 
enthusiasm,  leading  one  to  care  more  for  what  Quintilian 
calls  an  “  accurate  exility  ”  than  for  force  and  fervor  of 

%j 


412 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


style, —  we  do  not  pretend  to  decide.  We  are  inclined, 
however,  to  believe  that  the  secret  of  this  neglect  lies 
partly  in  an  unwillingness  to  believe  that  oratory  is  an 
art,  and  that  excellence  in  this,  as  in  every  other  art,  can 
be  attained  only  by  careful  training,  persistent  painstak¬ 
ing,  and  the  study  of  the  best  models,  and  partly  in  the 
illusion  that  because  religion  is  the  most  important  of 
human  concerns,  it  needs  for  the  enforcement  of  its  claims 
few  or  no  adventitious  helps.  Pious  and  worthy  divines, 
as  one  of  their  number  long  ago  declared,  are  too  apt  to 
imagine  that  men  are  what  they  ought  to  be;  to  suppose 
that  the  novelty  and  ornament,  the  charm  of  style  and  of 
elocution,  which  are  necessary  to  enforce  every  temporal 
doctrine,  are  wholly  superfluous  in  religious  admonition. 
They  are  apt  to  think  that  the  world  at  large  consider 
religion  as  the  most  important  of  all  concerns,  merely 
because  it  is  so;  whereas  the  actual  facts  show  that  the 
very  reverse  is  the  case.  “If  a  clergyman,”  says  Sydney 
Smith,  “  were  to  read  the  gazette  of  a  naval  victory  from 
the  pulpit,  he  would  be  dazzled  with  the  eager  eyes  of  his 
audience, —  they  would  sit  through  an  earthquake  to  hear 
him.  On  the  other  hand,  the  cry  of  a  child,  the  fall  of 
a  book,  the  most  trifling  occurrence,  is  sufficient  to  dissi¬ 
pate  religious  thought,  and  to  introduce  a  more  willing 
train  of  ideas;  a  sparrow  fluttering  about  a  church  is  an 
antagonist  which  the  most  profound  theologian  in  Europe 
is  wholly  unable  to  overcome.” 

Since,  then,  men  are  comparatively  indifferent  to  the 
reception  of  religious  truth, —  since  they  are  prone,  too, 
to  cavil  when  they  have  the  shadow  of  an  excuse, —  what 
can  be  more  important  than  that  every  obstacle  to  the 
preacher’s  success  should  be  removed,  and  that  the  dis- 


A  PLEA  FOR  ORATORICAL  CULTURE. 


413 


courses  which  they  are  invited  to  hear  should  be  adapted 
to  win  and  keep  their  attention?  When  will  our  theo¬ 
logical  teachers  learn,  and  act  upon  the  conviction,  that 
preaching  is  not  philosophizing,  not  setting  forth  dogmas 
with  orthodox  preciseness,  nor  exhibiting  the  results  of 
profound  learning  in  Greek  or  Hebrew  particles  or  idi¬ 
oms, —  needful  as  these  may  all  be, —  but  the  earnest, 
anxious,  successful  manifestation  of  truth  by  the  living 
voice,  the  eye,  and  the  gesture,  all  shedding  forth  their 
mysterious  magnetism,  and  compelling  sympathy  and  con¬ 
viction  by  a  profound  and  manifest  sympathy  with  hu¬ 
man  miseries  and  needs?  It  is  the  fashion  with  some 
preachers  who  pride  themselves  on  what  they  call  their 
“  solid  sermons,”  but  whose  spiritual  artillery,  however,  is 
more  remarkable  for  bore  than  for  calibre,  to  sneer  at 
popular  preachers,  who  have  more  eloquence  than  theo¬ 
logical  learning  or  metaphysical  acumen;  but  it  is  cer¬ 
tain  that  no  man*  ever  won  the  public  ear  without  some 
genuine  attraction;  and  it  would  be  far  better  to  search 
out  and  emulate  this  attractiveness  than  to  despise  it. 

The  main  cause,  however,  of  the  neglect  of  attention 
to  oratory,  is  the  heresy, —  which  is  as  pestilent  as  any 
theological  heresy, —  that  eloquence  is  a  gift  of  Nature 
purely,  and  must  be  left  to  her  direction.  It  is  foolish, 
we  are  told,  to  think  of  making  an  orator.  A  speaker 
may  be  taught  to  articulate  his  words  distinctly,  and  to 
gesticulate,  if  not  gracefully,  at  least  with  propriety;  he 
may  be  taught  to  master  his  subject  thoroughly,  and  to 
accommodate  his  style  of  speaking  to  his  audience;  and 
by  continual  practice  he  may  overcome  his  natural  timid¬ 
ity  as  well  as  his  awkwardness,  and  acquire  a  habitual 
ease  and  self-possession.  But  when  you  have  done  all, 


414 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


you  have  not  made  an  orator.  Unless  he  have  the  God- 
,  given  inspiration,  the  inborn  genius,  which  predestines 
him  to  public  speaking,  he  is  as  far  from  eloquence 
as  any  scholar  in  Raphael’s  studio,  who  has  faithfully 
learned  to  draw,  to  mix  his  colors,  and  to  lay  them  on  the 
canvas,  is  from  being  a  Raphael.  In  all  this  there  is  a 
large  amount  of  truth,  and  (especially  in  the  inference 
drawn  from  it)  an  equal  amount  of  error.  Of  course, 
nobody  supposes  that  a  man  can  become  an  orator  with¬ 
out  a  spark  of  oratorical  genius.  Mere  scholasticism, 
which  derives  its  brilliancy  from  the  midnight  oil,  we 
readily  admit,  can  never  compete  with  the  inspiration 
which  springs,  armed  and  ready,  from  a  sudden  occasion, 
like  Pallas  from  the  head  of  Jove.  In  all  lofty  eloquence 
there  must  be  a  great  and  earnest  soul  behind  a  great 
cause,  appealing,  with  plausible,  if  not  with  profound  and 
weighty  reasons,  to  a  sympathetic  audience  for  immediate 
action.  Without  these  essential  prerequisites,  the  inci¬ 
dents  of  modulation,  gesture,  rhythm,  accent,  pronuncia¬ 
tion,  and  all  the  other  adjuncts  of  declamation,  are  but 
sounding  brass  and  tinkling  cymbal.  But  though  nature 
and  circumstance  may  do  much  toward  the  production  of 
eloquence,  they  cannot  do  all.  If  they  can  furnish  the 
world  with  ready-made  orators,  why  are  not  the  orators 
forthcoming  ?  How  happens  it  that  all  the  successful 
speakers,  and  just  in  the  degree  that  they  were  successful, 
have  been  conspicuous  for  their  intense  study  of  their  art? 

If  inspiration  and  spontaneity  can  achieve  such  mira¬ 
cles  here,  why  not  in  the  arts  of  music,  sculpture,  and 
painting?  Why  not  trust  to  inspiration  in  architecture, 
also,  and  in  landscape  gardening?  There  are  born  gym¬ 
nasts,  too,  we  suppose,  and  born  marksmen,  chess-players, 


A  PLEA  FOR  ORATORICAL  CULTURE. 


415 


pedestrians,  and  boatmen.  Do  all  these  persons  trust  to 
the  inborn  faculty,  to  spontaneous  impulse,  without  ap¬ 
prenticeship  or  training?  Are  the  careful  diet,  the  early 
hours,  the  daily  testing  of  vigor  and  skill,  the  total  ab¬ 
stinence  from  hurtful  drinks  and  food,  the  training  of  the 
eye,  the  ear,  the  hand,  or  whatever  of  these  or  other 
means  are  employed,  to  acquire  skill  and  ensure  success, 

—  are  all  these  spontaneous  actions?  Does  the  man  who 
pulls  the  stroke  oar,  or  the  man  who  disarms  his  oppo¬ 
nent  at  fence,  do  it  by  spontaneity?  Admit  to  the  fullest 
extent,  that  eloquence  in  its  fundamental  qualities,  its 
groundwork,  is  a  natural  gift,  yet  it  by  no  means  follows 
that  the  speaker  can  dispense  with  art  and  study.  Though 
the  great  orator  must,  in  a  certain  sense,  be  born  such, 

—  though  men  are  organized  to  speak  well,  as  truly  as 
birds  are  organized  to  sing,  dogs  to  bark,  and  beavers  to 
build, —  though  to  be  eminently  successful  in  oratory,  one 
must  have  a  special  constitution  of  mind  and  body,  by 
which  he  is  called  incessantly  and  almost  irresistibly,  by 
a  mysterious  and  inexplicable  attraction  that  sways  his 
whole  being,  to  reproduce  his  mental  life  in  this  way, — 
yet  he  must  learn  his  craft  as  slowly  and  as  laboriously 
as  the  painter,  the  sculptor,  or  the  musician.  “  To  con¬ 
form  to  nature,  or  rather  to  know  when  to  conform,”  it 
has  been  truly  said,  “  we  should  previously  know  what 
nature  is, —  what  it  prescribes,  and  what  it  includes.” 

The  truth  is,  those  persons  who  talk  so  much  about 
“  born  orators,”  and  what  they  call  “  a  natural  and  artless 
eloquence,”  are  guilty  of  a  transparent  fallacy.  Nature 
and  art,  so  far  from  antagonizing  each  other,  are  often 
the  self-same  thing.  True  art, —  art  in  the  sense  of  an 
instrument  of  culture, —  is  drawn  directly  from  all  that 


416 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


can  be  learned  of  the  perfect  in  man's  nature,  and  is  de¬ 
signed  not  to  repress  or  extinguish,  but  to  develop,  train, 
and  extend  what  he  already  possesses.  Nearly  every  per¬ 
son  who  has  what  is  called  the  “  gift  ”  of  oratory,  finds 
that  he  has  great  defects  associated  with  his  native  gift. 
He  has  a  harsh  or  feeble  voice,  an  indistinct  articulation, 
a  personal,  provincial,  or  national  twang,  an  awkward 
manner,  a  depraved  taste;  and  instead  of  developing  the 
divine  faculty,  he  has  been  laboring  to  thwart  and  ob¬ 
struct  it.  What  is  more  natural  than  that  he  should 
endeavor  to  overcome  these  defects,  or,  if  he  cannot  get 
rid  of  them  altogether,  at  least  to  diminish  them  by  vocal 
exercises,  by  studying  the  best  models,  and  by  listening 
to  the  advice  of  a  judicious  friend?  But  what  is  all  this 
but  a  resort  to  art ,  or  the  deliberate  application  of  means 
to  an  end? — yet,  is  it  art  that  is  in.  the  slightest  degree 
inconsistent  with  nature?  If  so,  then  every  civilized, 
every  thoughtful  and  moral  man,  wrho  represses  his  nat¬ 
ural  impulses  to  be  indolent,  improvident,  rude,  and  sel¬ 
fish,  is  so  far  unnatural.  It  is  evident,  therefore,  that  in 
admitting  to  the  fullest  extent  the  necessity  of  a  natural 
manner  in  speaking,  we  do  not  exclude  culture.  When 
we  say  of  a  gentleman  that  he  has  a  natural  manner  in 
societv,  we  do  not  mean  that  he  demeans  himself  like 
a  savage  or  an  unlettered  boor,  but  the  very  reverse. 
We  mean  that  he  has  mingled  in  the  best  society,  and 
caught  its  ease,  quietness,  grace,  and  self-possession,  till 
he  reproduces  them  instinctively,  without  a  thought  of 
his  manner,  in  his  own  deportment  and  bearing.  When 
landscape  gardeners  talk  of  a  natural  style,  they  do  not 
mean  woods  full  of  underbrush  and  marshes,  lands  bris¬ 
tling  with  sharp  rocks,  briers,  and  thistles,  any  more  than 


A  PLEA  FOR  ORATORICAL  CULTURE. 


417 


they  mean  grounds  laid  out  in  stiff,  formal  plats,  with 
rectangular  walks,  exotic  plants,  and  trees  trimmed  into 
the  shape  of  peacocks’  tails.  They  mean  grounds  skill¬ 
fully  diversified,  with  gentle  slopes,  land  and  water,  here 
a  bit  of  native  rock  and  there  a  clump  of  native  oaks, 

with  just  enough  of  wildness  and  roughness  to  set  off 

» 

the  beauty  of  the  lawns,  and  the  whole  so  artistically, 
but  not  artificially  arranged,  as  to  be  a  copy  of  nature 
in  her  happiest  moods.  So  a  truly  “  natural  ”  oratory  is 
one  in  which  the  speaker’s  natural  powers  are  so  trained 
as  to  produce  their  happiest  effect.  No  effort  is  made  to 
repress  his  native  genius,  nor  is  he  moulded  and  twisted 
into  any  conventional  forms.  All  the  culture  he  receives 
is  based  on  his  natural  gifts,  and  is  directed  simply  to 
giving  them  the  fullest  play  and  development,  and  to 
pruning  away  every  thought  or  peculiarity  which  may 
weaken  their  force. 

But  it  is  said  that,  somehow  or  other,  any  system  of 
instruction  is  apt  to  do  injury,  by  fettering  and  constrain¬ 
ing  the  intellect,  and  substituting  a  stiff,  mechanical  move¬ 
ment  for  the  ease,  flexibility,  and  freedom  of  nature.  If 
this  objection  be  just,  we  see  not  why  it  is  not  equally 
valid  against  instruction  in  vocal  and  instrumental  music. 
The  drill  of  the  true  teacher  will  never  reappear  in  the 
performance  of  the  accomplished  speaker,  any  more  than 
the  food  he  eats  will  show  itself  unchanged  in  his  physique, 
but  will  be  merged  in  the  personality  of  the  pupil.  If  the 
result  of  oratorical  training  has  been  to  make  a  speaker 
stiff,  unnatural,  and  mechanical,  it  is  either  because  he 
has  had  a  poor  teacher,  or  has  but  half  learned  his  les¬ 
son.  The  fault  lies  not  in  the  art,  but  in  the  imperfect 
acquisition  of  it.  As  Pascal  says  to  those  who  complain 


418 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


of  the  grief  that  is  intermixed  with  the  consolations  of 
the  Christian’s  life,  especially  at  its  beginning,  that  it  is 
not  the  effect  of  the  piety  which  has  begun  in  him,  but 
of  the  impiety  which  still  remains,  so  we  may  say  of  the 
bad  habits  which  survive  the  best  courses  of  instruction. 
To  charge  these  habits  upon  the  very  systems  which  ex¬ 
pose  and  denounce  them,  is  the  height  of  paradox.  The 
truth  is,  the  tendency  in  young  minds  to  some  of  the 
various  forms  of  spurious  and  artificial  eloquence  is  so 
deep-rooted  that  it  resists  the  utmost  efforts  to  counteract 
it;  and  he  who  ascribes  this  false  oratory  to  the  instruction 
which  has  been  employed  with  but  partial  success  to  banish 
it,  might  with  as  much  propriety  say  of  some  spot  of  land 
which  had  been  but  partially  cultivated,  and  from  which 
the  weeds,  so  prodigally  sown  by  nature,  had  been  imper¬ 
fectly  pulled  up,  “  See,  this  comes  of  gardening  and  arti¬ 
ficial  culture !  ”  Who  can  doubt  that  if  the  rules  of  any 
other  art  were  learned  as  partially,  and  as  feebly  followed, 
the  result  would  be  equally  unsatisfactory? 

We  admit  that  an  over-minute  system  of  technical  rules, 
—  especially,  if  one  is  enslaved  to  them, —  may,  and  almost 
necessarily  will,  have  the  effect  which  has  been  complained 
of.  The  great  fault  of  such  systems  is  that  they  attempt 
to  establish  mathematical  rules  for  utterance,  when  they 
are  as  much  out  of  place  here  as  they  would  be  in  a  treatise 
on  dancing.  It  has  been  justly  said  that  the  shades  of  ex¬ 
pression  in  language  are  often  so  delicate  and  indistin¬ 
guishable,  that  intonation  will  inevitably  vary  according 
to  the  temperament  of  the  speaker,  his  appreciation  of  the 
sense,  and  the  intensity  with  which  he  enters  into  the 
spirit  of  what  he  utters.  Some  of  the  best  elocutionists 
have  differed  with  regard  to  the  words  on  which  the  stress 


A  PLEA  FOR  ORATORICAL  CULTURE. 


419 


should  fall  in  certain  passages,  and  whether  certain  words 
should  be  uttered  with  the  rising  or  the  falling  inflection;  nor 
is  it  easy  to  decide  between  them.  Some  authorities  insist 
that  the  gesture  should  precede  the  utterance  of  the  words, 
others  that  it  should  accompany  it.  There  are  many  cases 
for  which  no  rules  can  provide,  and  even  when  the  wit 
and  ingenuity  of  man  have  done  their  best  in  devising  a 
system  of  merely  general  principles,  passion  and  emotion, 
when  genuine  and  overpowering,  will  often  laugh  them 
to  scorn.  Nevertheless,  there  must  be  some  great  general 
principles  of  oratory,  which  should  be  studied  and  followed, 
for  to  question  this  would  be  to  question  whether  men 
speak  best  by  accident  or  by  design, —  when  they  take  no 
thought,  and  when  they  previously  consider  what  they 
are  about  to  do.  It  has  been  contended,  however,  that 
any  attempt  to  establish  a  practical  system  of  elocutionary 
rules,  is  useless  and  absurd.  Who,  it  is  asked,  would  think 
of  telling  the  pugilist  that,  in  order  to  give  a  blow  with 
due  effect,  he  ought  to  know  how  the  muscles  depend  for 
their  powers  of  contraction  and  relaxation  on  the  nerves, 
and  how  the  nerves  issue  from  the  brain  and  the  spinal 
marrow,  with  similar  facts,  requiring,  perhaps,  a  life-time 
of  study  for  their  comprehension?  “When  Edmund  Kean 
thrilled  the.  heart  of  a  great  audience  with  the  tones  of 
indescribable  pathos  which  he  imparted  to  the  words 

‘  Othello’s  occupation  is  gone,’ 

it  would  have  puzzled  him  to  tell  whether  the  sentence 
was  *  a  simple  declarative  ’  or  an  *  imperfect  loose.’  He 
knew  as  little  of  ‘  intensive  slides,’  ‘  bends,’  ‘  sweeps,’  and 
‘  closes,’  as  Cribb,  the  boxer,  did  of  osteology.  He  studied 
the  intonation  which  most  touched  his  own  heart;  and 
he  gave  it,  reckless  of  rules,  or,  rather,  guided  by  that 


420 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


paramount  rule  which  seeks  the  highest  triumphs  of  art 

in  elocution  in  the  most  genuine  utterances  of  nature.”  * 

If  it  be  meant  by  this  to  intimate  that  Kean  achieved 

his  triumphs  without  toil,  we  have  only  to  say  that  he 

himself  has  expressly  contradicted  the  assertion.  “  People 

* 

think,”  said  he,  “  because  my  style  is  new  and  appears  nat¬ 
ural,  that  I  don’t  study,  and  talk  about  the  sudden  impulse 
of  genius.  There  is  no  such  thing  as  impulsive  acting :  all 
is  studied  beforehand."1  “Acting,”  says  Talma,  in  the  same 
spirit,  “  is  a  complete  paradox.  The  skillful  actor  calculates 
his  effects  beforehand.  He  never  improvises  a  burst  of  pas¬ 
sion,  or  an  explosion  of  grief.  The  agony  which  appears 
instantaneous, —  the  joy  that  seems  to  gush  forth  involun¬ 
tarily, —  the  tone  of  the  voice,  the  gesture,  the  look,  which 
pass  for  sudden  inspiration, —  have  been  rehearsed  a  hun¬ 
dred  times.  No,  believe  me,  we  are  not  nature,  but  art ; 
and  in  the  excellence  of  our  imitation  lies  the  consum¬ 
mation  of  our  skill.”  But  our  main  reply  to  all  these 
objections  is  that  they  are  the  stale  commonplaces  which 
all  the  enemies  of  systematic  and  accurate  knowledge, 
and  the  eulogists  of  common  sense  and  practical  educa¬ 
tion,  have  been  repeating  since  the  dawn  of  science.  They 
have  been  urged  against  all  systems  of  logic,  of  rhetoric, 
and  of  grammar,  and  they  might  be  urged  with  equal 
propriety  and  force  against  every  treatise  on  music,  archi¬ 
tecture,  agriculture,  chess-playing,  or  any  other  art  what¬ 
ever.  Indeed,  Macaulay  mocks  at  books  of  logic  and  rhet¬ 
oric,  “  filled  with  idle  distinctions  and  definitions  which 
every  man  who  has  learned  them  makes  haste  to  forget. 
Who  ever  reasoned  better,”  he  asks,  “  for  having  been 
taught  the  difference  between  a  syllogism  and  an  enthy- 
*  ”  The  Standard  Speaker,”  by  Epes  Sargent,  p.  23. 


A  PLEA  FOR  ORATORICAL  CULTURE. 


421 


meme?  Who  ever  composed  with  greater  spirit  and  ele¬ 
gance  because  he  could  define  an  oxymoron  or  an  aposio- 
pesis?”*  To  this  we  reply  That  nobody  ever  pretended 
that  a  person  who  masters  a  work  on  logic  or  rhetoric 
will  reason  better  at  first  than  if  he  had  not  studied  it; 
but  if  any  of  the  principles  it  unfolds  stick  in  his  memory, 
and  he  afterward,  consciously  or  unconsciously,  shapes  and 
corrects  his  conclusions,  or  fashions  his  style  by  them,  can 
any  one  doubt  that  he  reasons  or  writes  better? 

Every  art,  from  reasoning  down  to  riding  and  rowing, — 
from  speaking  to  fencing  and  chess-playing, —  is  learned 
by  ceaseless  practice;  and  can  any  sane  man  doubt  that 
its  principles  will  be  more  quickly  and  thoroughly  mas¬ 
tered,  and  more  faithfully  applied  in  practice,  if  systema¬ 
tized,  than  if  left  to  each  man  to  discover  for  himself  ? 
Can  any  one  doubt  that  a  great  speaker  can  give  a  novice 
in  the  art  many  useful  hints  which  may  anticipate  and 
abridge  the  costly  lessons  of  experience,  and  save  him 
both  time  and  trouble?  Is  there  any  reason  why  the 
young  speaker  should  be  left  to  grope  out  his  way  by 
the  lead-line  only,  when  he  may  be  provided  with  a  chart 
and  compass?  A  proper  system  of  oratory  or  elocution 
is  not  a  system  of  artificial  rules,  but  simply  a  digest  of 
the  methods  adopted,  and  practiced  by  all  the  great  orators 
who  have  ever  lived.  As  to  the  illustration  drawn  from 
the  pugilist,  who,  it  is  said,  does  not  find  it  necessary  to 
study  anatomy  and  physiology,  and  learn  in  what  way 
the  muscles  of  the  arm  operate,  etc.,  we  reply  that  the 
example  is  not  in  point.  It  would  be  in  point  if  any 
advocate  of  elocutionary  or  oratorical  studies  had  con¬ 
tended  that  the  young  speaker  should  study  the  anatomy 

*  “Trevelyan’s  Life,”  Vol.  I,  p.  360. 


422 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


of  the  complicated  organs  of  speech,  the  formation  and 
action  of  the  muscles  of  the  arm  and  face,  and  all  the 
other  organs  used  in  expression  or  gesticulation;  hut  such 
advice  is  yet  to  be  given.  That  Kean  “  thrilled  great 
audiences,”  while  profoundly  ignorant  of  “  slides  ”  and 
“  bends,”  and  all  the  other  technology  of  elocution,  is 
doubtless  true;  and  so  it  is  equally  true  that  men  have 
electrified  and  ravished  great  audiences  by  their  musical 
genius  who  knew  nothing  of  counterpoint  or  thorough 
base,  of  “octaves”  or  “semibreves”;  that  men  have  navi¬ 
gated  ships  across  the  ocean  without  a  knowledge  of 
astronomy  or  logarithms;  and  that  men  have  raised  large 
crops  though  they  have  known  nothing  of  the  constitution 
of  soils,  and  have  never  even  looked  into  a  treatise  on 
agricultural  chemistry. 

It  is  doubtless,  true  that,  in  some  cases,  men  without 
special  oratorical  training  have  exhibited  a  might  and 
majesty,  a  freedom  and  grace  of  eloquence,  surpassing 
those  of  other  men  who  have  devoted  years  to  the  study 
of  their  art.  So  a  Colburn  or  a  SafFord,  without  mathe¬ 
matical  instruction,  may  solve  problems  over  which  trained 
students  of  inferior  natural  gifts  may  rack  their  brains 
in  vain.  So  the  Shakspeares,  Wattses,  Arkwrights,  and 
Franklins,  who  have  never  had  a  college  education,  can 
achieve  greater  results  in  their  callings  than  the  vast 
majority  of  college  graduates,  with  all  their  years  of  pain¬ 
ful  study  and  discipline.  When  Mozart  was  asked  how 
he  set  to  work  to  compose  a  symphony,  he  replied:  “If 
once  you  think  how  you  are  to  do  it,  you  will  never 
write  anything  worth  hearing;  I  write  because  I  cannot 
help  it.”  But  there  has  been  but  one  Mozart,  and  even 
he  must  have  been  at  some  time  a  profound  student  of 


A  PLEA  FOR  ORATORICAL  CULTURE. 


423 


his  art.  Certain  it  is  that  no  general  rules  can  be  drawn 
from  the  anomalous  success  of  a  few  prodigies  of  genius 
that  are  formed  to  overcome  all  disadvantages.  Even  if 
we  allow,  what  is  not  true,  that  the  men  whom  nature 
has  endowed  with  this  heaven-born  genius  are  a  rule  un¬ 
to  themselves,  and  can  do  themselves  full  justice  without 
instruction,  the  question  still  remains,  how  to  improve  to 
the  utmost  the  talents  of  those  who  must  be  public  speak¬ 
ers,  yet  have  no  pretensions  to  the  inspiration  of  genius, 
—  men  on  whom  nobody  dreams  that  the  mantle  of  Cicero 
or  Chatham  has  ever  fallen. 

We  sometimes  hear  it  said  that  but  one  rule  can  be 
given  in  oratory,  namely,  “  Be  natural.”  But  this  advice, 
though  correct  enough,  is  so  vague  as  to  be  utterly  use¬ 
less.  As  well  might  a  teacher  of  the  piano  tell  his  pu¬ 
pil  “to  be  natural,”  and  give  him  no  directions  as  to  fin¬ 
gering  the  keys,  expecting  that  he  will  thus  become  a 
finished  player;  as  well  might  one  hope  to  rival  Paganini 
on  the  violin,  Stevenson  as  a  machinist,  or  Blondin  in 
rope-walking,  by  copying  nature,  without  study, —  as  one 
expect,  by  following  this  vague  and  indefinite  direction, 
to  play  with  skill  upon  that  grandest,  most  musical,  and 
most  expressive  of  all  instruments,  the  human  voice, 
which  the  Creator  has  fashioned  by  the  union  of  an  in¬ 
tellectual  soul  with  the  powers  of  speech.  As  the  pianist 
or  violinist  must  tutor  his  fingers  to  pliancy,  so  as  to  ex¬ 
ecute  easily  and  instantaneously  all  the  movements  neces¬ 
sary  for  the  quick  production  of  sounds, —  as  the  singer 
must,  by  ceaseless,  painful  drudgery,  learn  to  master  all 
the  movements  of  his  throat, —  so  must  the  orator,  by  dil¬ 
igent  labor,  by  vocal  exercises  multiplied  without  end, 
acquire  a  mastery  over  those  contractions  and  expansions 


424 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


of  the  windpipe,  and  over  all  the  other  organs  of  speech 
which  modify  and  inflect  the  voice  in  every  degree  and 
fraction  of  its  scale.  Then,  and  then  only,  will  his  voice 
be  obedient  to  the  least  touch  of  his  will;  then  will  mu¬ 
sical  sounds,  that  charm  men  and  hold  them  while  they 
charm,  flow  spontaneously  from  his  lips,  the  result,  never¬ 
theless,  of  the  subtlest  art, — “like  the  waters  of  our  foun¬ 
tains,  which,  with  great  cost  and  magnificence,  are  carried 
from  our  rivers  into  our  squares,  yet  appear  to  flow  forth 
naturally.”  But,  says  one,  “  can  gesture  be  taught  or 
learned?  Must  I  raise  my  hand  at  this  point,  and  lower 
it  at  that,  exactly  according  to  rule?  Would  you  make 
me  a  clock-work  of  mechanism?”  As  well  might  you 
ask:  “Must  I  frame  my  sentences  according  to  rule,  and 
think  of  Lindley  Murray,  whenever  I  wish  to  speak?” 
Of  course,  all  rules,  to  be  good  for  anything,  must  be  so 
familiarized  as  to  operate  spontaneously.  No  man  knows 
how  to  play  a  piano,  who  stops  to  think  which  keys  he 
must  strike.  It  is  only  when  his  fingers  glide  from  one 
key  to  another  mechanically,  automatically,  with  hardly  a 
thought  of  anything  but  the  ideas  he  wishes  to  express, 
that  one  has  really  mastered  the  art.  The  lunge  that 
rids  you  of  your  adversary  is  the  inspiration  of  the  mo¬ 
ment,  never  the  remembered  lesson  of  the  fencing-master. 
Let  the  young  speaker  master  thoroughly  the  rules  of  his 
art,  and  his  perceptions  will  be  quick  and  vigorous  as  his 
feelings  warm  with  delivery,  and  nature  will  prompt  with 
happy  exactness.  He  will  combine  the  force  of  apt  words, 
the  point  of  finished  periods,  the  melody  of  natural  tones, 
and  the  charm  of  spontaneous  gestures,  with  an  air  of 
fervid  sincerity,  which  will  render  his  oratory  as  capti¬ 
vating  as  it  will  be  powerful  and  impressive. 


A  PLEA  FOR  ORATORICAL  CULTURE. 


425 


“But,*1  says  an  objector,  “is  there  not  a  great  deal  of 
quackery  in  the  elocutionary  profession?  Does  not  the 
eloquent  Dr.  Philip  Brooks  say  in  his  late  Yale  Seminary 
lectures,  ‘  I  believe  in  the  true  elocution  teacher  as  I  be¬ 
lieve  in  the  existence  of  Halley’s  comet,  which  comes  into 
sight  of  this  earth  once  in  about  seventy-six  years’?” 
We  admit  that  there  is  as  much  sciolism  and  charlatanry, 
—  as  much  pedagogism  and  pedantry, —  in  the  teaching  of 
oratory  as  in  any  other  department  of  instruction.  But, 
as  in  other  matters,  we  do  not  confound  the  true  with 
the  false, —  reject  the  genuine  with  the  counterfeit, —  why 
should  we  do  so  here?  If  sagacity,  good  sense,  and  judg¬ 
ment,  are  required  in  choosing  an  attorney,  a  physician,  or 
a  teacher  of  other  branches  than  elocution,  is  it  a  reproach 
to  sound  oratorical  instruction  that  it  cannot  be  had 
without  some  care,  caution,  and  trouble  in  looking  for  it? 

There  are  some  public  speakers  who,  because  Nature 
has  been  niggard  to  them  of  her  gifts,  can  never  hope  to 
reach  a  high  standard  of  excellence.  “  There  are  those,” 
says  the  eloquent  Bethune,  “  whose  attenuated  length  of 
limb  and  angularity  of  frame,  no  calisthenist  could  ever 
drill  into  grace;  whose  voices  are  too  harsh  and  unpliant, 
or  their  musical  sense  too  dull,  ever  to  acquire  a  pleas¬ 
ing  modulation;  upon  whose  arid  brain  the  dews  of  fancy 
never  fall,  the  thoughts  which  grow  in  it  being  like  cer¬ 
tain  esculents  without  bud,  blossom,  or  leaf, —  naked,  knot¬ 
ty,  gnarled,  and  unseemly.  Yet  even  these,  if  they  cannot 
be  graceful,  may  become  less  awkward;  if  they  cannot  be 
musical  in  utterance,  they  need  not  screech  or  mumble; 
or,  if  they  have  no  fancy,  they  may  cease  to  be  grotesque 
by  absurd  imitations  of  it.”  Let  no  one,  then,  who  has 

occasion  to  address  his  fellow-men,  forego  the  study  of 
18* 


426 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


oratory,  because  his  gifts  are  small.  While  the  highest 
oratorical  genius  is  of  rare  occurrence, —  as  rare,  as  we 
have  already  said,  as  the  epic  or  dramatic, —  yet  it  is  posi¬ 
tively  certain  that  there  is  no  other  faculty  whatever, 
which  admits  of  such  indefinite  growth  and  development, 
or  which  may  be  so  improved  by  care  and  labor,  as  that 
of  public  speaking.  When  Sir  Isaac  Newton  was  asked 
how  he  had  discovered  the  true  system  of  the  universe, 
he  replied:  “By  continually  thinking  upon  it.”  In  like 
manner,  attention  to  vocal  culture, —  practice  in  elocution 
under  intelligent  guidance,  till  the  voice  has  been  devel¬ 
oped, —  the  frequent  hearing  of  the  best  living  speakers, 
—  the  living  in  an  atmosphere  of  oratory, —  above  all, 
constant  recitation  in  private  with  careful  attention  to 
the  meaning  and  spirit  of  what  one  utters, —  will  develop 
and  perfect  an  oratorical  style  in  any  one  who  has  the 
gift  of  eloquence,  even  in  a  moderate  degree;  and  for 
any  other  a  thousand  professors  can  do  no  more  than 
teach  the  avoidance  of  positive  faults. 

But  too  many  who  have  the  gift  are  apt,  because  they 
do  not  succeed  at  once,  to  be  despondent  and  disheart¬ 
ened.  If  they  were  learning  to  play  upon  a  flute,  a 
violin,  or  a  piano,  they  would  not  dream  of  drawing  out 
all  its  combinations  of  harmonious  sounds  without  years 
of  toil;  yet  they  fancy  that  a  far  more  complex,  more 
difficult,  and  more  expressive  instrument,  the  human  voice, 
may  be  played  upon  with  a  few  months1  study  and  prac¬ 
tice.  Coming  to  it  mere  tyros,  with  the  profoundest  ig¬ 
norance  of  its  mechanism,  they  think  to  manage  all  its 

i 

stops,  and  command  the  whole  sweep  of  its  vast  and  va¬ 
ried  power;  and  finding  that  they  cannot  at  once  sound 
it  “  from  its  lowest  note  to  the  top  of  its  compass,”  they 


A  PLEA  FOR  ORATORICAL  CULTURE. 


427 


heave  a  sigh  of  despair,  and  settle  down  in  the  convic¬ 
tion  that  they  must  be  “  Orator  Mums.”  Men  with  real 
oratorical  gifts  are,  perhaps,  most  likely  to  be  thus  dis¬ 
couraged,  because  the  same  judgment  and  taste  which  are 
needed  to  work  up  into  force  or  beauty  thoughts  and 
feelings  imperfectly  developed,  must,  when  coupled  with 
the  characteristic  sensitiveness  of  genius,  induce  frequent 
misgivings  as  to  the  degree  of  success  one  has  achieved. 
Too  many  would-be  orators  are  like  the  dwellers  in  Ori¬ 
ental  lands  of  whom  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  spoke  in  his 
address  to  the  pupils  of  the  Royal  Academy.  “  The  trav¬ 
elers  in  the  East,”  he  says,  “tell  us  that  when  the  ig¬ 
norant  inhabitants  of  those  countries  are  asked  concern¬ 
ing  the  ruins  of  stately  edifices  yet  remaining  among 
them,  the  melancholy  monuments  of  their  former  grand¬ 
eur  and  long-lost  science,  they  always  answer,  *  They 
were  built  by  magicians.’  The  untaught  mind  finds  a 
vast  gulf  between  its  own  powers  and  those  works  of 
complicated  art,  which  it  is  utterly  unable  to  fathom;  and 
it  supposes  that  such  a  void  can  be  passed  only  by  super¬ 
natural  powers.”  What  this  great  painter  says  of  his  art 
is  true  of  oratory.  As  Pycroft  has  happily  observed,  in 
his  comment  on  this  passage,  “  those  who  know  not  the 
cause  of  anything  extraordinary  and  beyond  them,  may 
well  be  astonished  at  the  effect ;  and  what  the'  uncivil¬ 
ized  ascribe  to  magic,  others  ascribe  to  genius;  two  migh¬ 
ty  pretenders,  who  for  the  most  part  are  safe  from  rivalry 
only  because,  by  the  terror  of  their  name,  they  dis¬ 
courage  in  their  own  peculiar  sphere  that  resolute  and 
sanguine  spirit  of  enterprise  which  is  essential  to  success. 
But  all  magic  is  science  in  disguise;  let  us  proceed  to 
take  off  the  mask, —  to  show  that  the  mightiest  objects  of 


428 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


our  wonder  are  mere  men  like  ourselves;  have  attained 
their  superiority  by  steps  which  we  can  follow;  and  that 
we  can,  at  all  events,  walk  in  the  same  path,  though  there 
remains  at  last  a  space  between  us.1* 

Lord  Chesterfield  went  so  far,  in  his  letters  to  his  son, 
as  to  tell  him  that  any  man  of  fair  abilities  might  be  an 
orator.  The  vulgar,  he  said,  look  upon  a  fine  speaker  as 
a  supernatural  being,  and  endowed  with  some  peculiar 
gift  of  heaven.  He  himself  maintained  that  a  good 
speaker  is  as  much  a  mechanic  as  a  good  shoemaker, 
and  that  the  two  trades  were  equally  to  be  learned  by 
the  same  amount  of  application.  This  is  an  extreme 
view,  and  yet  if  by  “  orator  ”  we  mean  not  Cicero’s  mag¬ 
nificent  myth,  who  unites  in  himself  every  possible  accom¬ 
plishment,  but  simply  a  pleasing  and  persuasive  speaker, 
his  lordship  was  much  nearer  the  truth  than  those  who 
are  frightened  from  all  attempts  to  speak  by  the  bugbear 
of  “  want  of  genius.1'  Chesterfield  himself  was  an  illus¬ 
tration,  to  some  extent,  of  his  own  theory,  for  he  declares 
that  he  succeeded  in  Parliament  simply  by  resolving  to 
succeed.  He  labored  indefatigably  to  perfect  himself  not 
only  in  public  speaking  but  in  conversation,  and  Horace 
Walpole  saj's  that  he  was  the  first  speaker  of  the  House. 
If  a  schoolboy  were  required  to  name  the  most  illustrious 
example  of  defects  subdued  and  excellence  won  by  un¬ 
wearied  perseverance,  he  would  name  Demosthenes.  His 
discouragements  would  have  appalled  an  ordinary  man. 
Constitutionally  feeble,  so  that  he  shrank  from  the  vigorous 
physical  training  deemed  so  essential  in  a  Greek  education, 
he  also,  as  we  have  seen,  stammered  in  his  youth, —  the 
most  unlucky  infirmity  that  could  befall  a  would-be  ora¬ 
tor.  He  passed  two  or  three  months  continuously  in  a 


A  PLEA  FOR  ORATORICAL  CULTURE. 


429 


subterranean  cell,  shaving  one  side  of  his  head  that  he 
might  not  be  able  to  show  himself  in  public,  to  the  inter¬ 
ruption  of  his  rhetorical  exercises.  At  last  he  overcame 
his  defect,  so  that  he  was  able  to  articulate  the  stubborn 
guttural  most  plainly.  “  Exercitatione  fecisse  ut  plenis- 
sime  diceret.”  Still,  having  the  most  critical  and  fastidi¬ 
ous  assembly  in  the  world  to  speak  before,  he  was  hissed 
from  the  bema  in  his  early  efforts,  and  retired  to  his 
house  with  covered  head  and  in  great  distress,  yet  not 
disheartened.  At  one  time  he  was  returning  to  his  home 
in  deep  dejection,  when  Satyrus,  a  great  and  popular  actor, 
entered  into  conversation  with  him.  Demosthenes  com¬ 
plained  that  though  he  was  the  most  painstaking  of  all 
orators,  and  had  nearly  ruined  his  health  by  his  intense 
application,  yet  he  could  find  no  favor  with  the  people, 
and  even  drunken  seamen  and  other  illiterate  persons 
were  preferred  to  him.  “  True,”  replied  the  actor,  “  but 
I  will  provide  you  with  a  remedy,  if  you  will  repeat  to 
me  some  speech  in  Euripides  or  Sophocles.”  Demosthenes 
complied,  and  then  Satyrus  recited  the  same  speech  in 
such  a  way  that  it  was  like  a  revelation  to  him.  Aided 
by  such  hints,  and  urged  on  by  his  own  marvellous  indus¬ 
try,  he  by-and-by  achieved  a  distinct  success  in  the  law 
courts,  and  at  last  became  the  most  renowned  of  orators. 
In  all  this  we  see  little  that  is  suggestive  of  a  heaven- 
born  genius.  No  doubt  Nature  had  planted  in  him  the 
germ  of  oratory;  but  it  was  grown  and  matured  only  by 
the  intensest  labor  and  the  most  ceaseless  care, —  such 
labor  and  such  care  as  would  enable  any  man  with  fair 
natural  abilities  to  “  sway  listening  senates  ”  and  win 
verdicts  from  juries. 

The  great  Roman  orator  subjected  himself  to  a  train- 


430 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


ing  as  severe  as  that  of  the  famous  Greek.  His  life  is 
before  us  in  his  works;  and  from  them  it  appears  that 
he  directed  all  his  energies  to  the  cultivation  of  elo¬ 
quence,  the  absorbing  passion  of  his  life.  Placing  himself 
under  the  instruction  of  Molo  the  Rhodian,  he  declaimed 
daily  in  the  presence  of  some  friend,  sometimes  in  his 
native  language,  but  oftener  in  Greek,  a  language  with 
which  he  was  perfectly  familiar,  and  of  which  he  trans¬ 
ferred  some  of  the  rich  luxuriance  to  his  more  unadorned 
and  meagre  native  tongue.  He  was,  apparently,  master 
of  logic,  ethics,  astronomy,  and  natural  philosophy,  besides 
being  well  versed  in  geometry,  music,  grammar,  and,  in 
short,  every  one  of  the  fine  arts.  It  was  from  no  unas¬ 
sisted  natural  gifts,  but  from  deep  learning  and  the  united 
confluence  of  the  arts  and  sciences,  that,  as  Tacitus  affirms, 
the  resistless  torrent  of  that  amazing  eloquence  derived 
its  strength  and  rapidity. 

If  we  read  the  biographies  of  the  great  modern  orators, 
we  shall  find  their  success  to  have  been  owing  to  similar 
causes.  They  have  all  been  deeply  impressed  with  the 
truth  of  Cicero’s  maxim,  “  magnus  dicendi  labor,  magna 
res,  magna  dignitas,  summa  autem  gratia.”  (Pro  Murena , 
13.)  From  Chatham  downward,  not  one  of  them  has 
become  an  adept  in  the  art  of  persuading  his  fellow-men 
without  a  careful  and  persistent  adaptation  of  means  to 
the  end.  When  Robert  Walpole  first  spoke  in  the  House 
of  Commons,  he  paused  for  want  of  words,  and  could  only 
stutter  and  stammer.  “  What  future  promise,”  it  was 
asked,  “  was  there  in  that  sturdy,  bull-necked,  red-faced 
young  member  for  Castle  Rising,  who  looked  like  the  son 
of  a  small  farmer,  and  seemed  by  his  gait  as  though  he 
had  been  brought  up  to  follow  the  plough?”  It  is  not 


A  PLEA  FOR  ORATORICAL  CULTURE. 


431 


surprising  that  the  brilliant  and  accomplished  Henry  St. 
John  (Lord  Bolingbroke),  whose  first  speech  on  the  same 
evening  was  loudly  applauded,  laughed  at  the  idea  of  his 
old  schoolfellow  ever  becoming  his  competitor.  Yet  in 
spite  of  this  bad  beginning,  Walpole  lived  to  falsify  all 
these  croakings,  and  to  become  by  practice  and  painstak¬ 
ing  a  powerful  debater.  If  ever  a  man  was  born  with 
great  oratorical  powers,  and  could  afford  to  dispense  with 
all  helps  to  success,  it  was  Lord  Chatham.  Yet  even  he, 
the  king  of  British  orators,  did  not  trust  to  the  gifts  of 
which  Nature  had  been  so  prodigal,  but,  as  we  have  al¬ 
ready  seen,  labored  indefatigably  to  improve  them  by  study 
and  discipline.  As  a  means  of  acquiring  copiousness  of 
diction  and  precision  in  the  choice  of  words,  he  submitted 
to  a  most  painful  task.  He  went  twice  through  a  large  folio 
dictionary,  examining  each  word  attentively,  dwelling  on 
its  various  shades  of  meaning  and  modes  of  construction, 
thus  endeavoring  to  bring  the  whole  range  of  our  noble 
and  affluent  tongue  completely  under  his  control.  His 
son,  William  Pitt,  toiled  still  harder  to  perfect  his  natural 
gifts;  and  they  were  so  sharpened  by  ceaseless  practice 
that  failure  in  his  case  would  have  been  more  wonderful 
than  success.  According  to  Lord  Stanhope,  when  he  was 
asked  to  what  he  principally  ascribed  the  two  qualities 
for  which  his  eloquence  was  conspicuous, —  namely,  the 
lucid  order  of  his  reasonings  and  the  ready  choice  of  his 
words,  he  answered  that  “  he  believed  he  owed  the  former 
to  an  early  study  of  the  Aristotelian  logic,  and  the  latter 
to  his  father’s  practice  of  making  him  every  day,  after 
reading  over  to  himself  some  passage  in  the  classics,  trans¬ 
late  it  aloud  and  continuously  into  English  prose.”  Not 
only  did  these  rhetorical  exercises  receive  a  large  share 


432 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


of  his  attention,  but  he  was  assiduous  in  his  efforts  to 
cultivate  and  improve  his  powers  of  elocution.  By  long 
practice  he  was  -able  at  last  “  to  pour  forth  a  long  suc¬ 
cession  of  round  and  statety  periods  without  premedita¬ 
tion,  without  ever  repeating  a  word,  in  a  voice  of  silver 
clearness,  and  with  a  pronunciation  so  articulate  that  not 
a  letter  was  slurred  over.1'  “  Probably  no  man  of  genius 
since  the  days  of  Cicero/’  says  Professor  Goodrich,  “  has 
ever  submitted  to  an  equal  amount  of  drudgery.” 

Of  the  silver-tongued  Murray, — “  the  great  Lord  Mans¬ 
field,”  as  he  was  called  in  his  own  time, —  him  whose  words 
“  dropped  manna,”  who  “  spoke  roses,”  it  was  said  by  Bish¬ 
op  Hurd,  that  though  his  powers  of  genius  and  invention 
were  confessedly  of  the  first  size,  yet  “  he  almost  owed 
less  to  them  than  to  the  diligent  and  studious  cultivation  of 
his  judgment.”  Distinguished  at  school  more  for  his  excel¬ 
lence  in  declamation  than  in  any  of  the  other  exercises,  he, 
nevertheless,  spared  no  pains  to  improve  his  natural  gifts, 
and  studied  oratory  with  the  utmost  zeal  and  diligence. 
“  Those  who  look  upon  him  with  admiration  as  the  antag¬ 
onist  of  Chatham,”  says  Lord  Campbell,  “  and  who  would 
rival  his  fame,  should  be  undeceived  if  they  suppose  that 
oratorical  skill  is  merely  the  gift  of  nature,  and  should 
know  by  what  laborious  efforts  it  is  acquired.”  He  read 
everything  that  had  been  written  upon  the  principles  of 
oratory,  and  familiarized  himself  with  all  the  great  masters 
of  ancient  eloquence.  He  also  diligently  practiced  original 
composition,  and  spent  much  time  in  translation.  Cicero 
was  his  favorite  writer,  and  he  used  to  declare  that  there 
was  not  a  single  oration  extant  of  this  great  forensic  and 
senatorial  orator  which  he  had  not  translated  into  Eng¬ 
lish,  and,  after  an  interval,  according  to  the  best  of  his 


A  PLEA  FOR  ORATORICAL  CULTURE 


433 


ability,  re-translated  into  Latin.  To  give  him  skill  in 
extemporaneous  speaking,  he  joined  a  debating  society  at 
Lincoln’s  Inn,  where  the  most  abstruse  legal  points  were 
elaborately  discussed.  For  these  exercises  he  prepared  him¬ 
self  beforehand  so  thoroughly  and  minutely,  that  his  notes 
proved  of  great  service  to  him  afterward,  both  at  the  bar 
and  on  the  bench.  Mastering  in  succession  ethics,  the 
Roman  civil  law,  international  law,  the  feudal  law,  and 
the  English  municipal  law,  he  still  found  time,  amid  all 
these  multifarious  and  severe  studies,  to  attend  to  his 
oratorical  exercises,  and  even,  as  Boswell  expresses  it,  to 
“  drink  cnampagne  with  the  wits,”  and  cultivate  elegant 
literature.  Among  his  early  acquaintances  was  Alexander 
Pope,  who  was  struck  with  admiration  by  his  rare  accom¬ 
plishments,  and,  above  all,  by  the  silvery  tones  of  his  voice, 
which  was  one  of  the  most  noticeable  peculiarities  of  his 
subtle  and  insinuating  eloquence.  It  is  related  that  one 
day,  a  gay  Templar  having  unceremoniously  entered  his 
room,  young  Murray  was  surprised  in  the  act  of  practic¬ 
ing  oratory  before  a  glass,  while  the  poet  sat  by  in  the 
character  of  an  instructor.  Such  were  the  toils  of  one 
of  those  “  born  orators,”  who  are  vulgarly  supposed  to  be 
able  to  dispense  with  labor.  Who  does  not  see  that  it 
was  by  intense  study  and  self-discipline  that  Mansfield 
acquired  his  masterly  art  of  putting  things, —  that  art 
which,  as  Lord  Ashburton  said,  “  made  it  exceedingly  diffi¬ 
cult  to  answer  him  when  he  was  wrong,  and  impossible 
when  he  was  right.” 

That  Burke,  with  all  his  transcendent  genius,  was  a 
prodigious  worker,  no  other  proof  is  required  than  his 
works  themselves.  “  The  immense  labor  which  he  bestowed 

upon  all  he  did,”  says  an  able  writer,  “  was  his  constant 

19 


434 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


boast.  He  disclaimed  superior  talent,  and  always  appealed 
to  his  superior  industry.  ...  By  incessant  labor  he  could 
at  last  soar  at  any  moment  to  his  highest  elevation,  as 
though  it  had  been  his  natural  level.  His  innate  genius 
was  wonderful,  but  he  improved  it  to  the  uttermost.  By 
reading  and  observation  he  fed  his  rich  imagination;  to 
books  he  owed  his  vast  and  varied  knowledge;  from  his 
extensive  acquaintance  with  literature  he  derived  his  inex¬ 
haustible  command  of  words;  through  his  habits  of  inces¬ 
sant  thought  he  was  enabled  to  draw  the  inferences  which 
have  won  for  him  the  renown  of  being  the  most  sagacious 
of  politicians;  and  by  the  incessant  practice  of  composition 
he  learned  to  embody  his  conclusions  in  a  style  more 
grandly  beautiful  than  has  ever  been  reached  by  any  other 
Englishman  with  either  the  tongue  or  the  pen.” 

So  great  and  so  long  continued  are  the  labors  necessary 
to  make  an  orator  that  it  is  probable  there  never  was  a 
successful  speaker  who  did  not  acquire  his  mastery  by 
the  constant  torment  of  his  hearers.  Charles  James  Fox 
acquired  such  skill  and  readiness  in  speaking,  that  he 
could  begin  at  full  speed,  and  roll  on  for  hours  without 
fatiguing  himself  or  his  audience.  His  mind  was  so  richly 
supplied  with  knowledge,  and  so  charged  with  intellectual 
heat,  that  it  needed  but  collision  with  other  minds  to  flash 
instantaneously  into  light.  But  even  his  talents  had  been 
gradually  developed  by  practice.  He  made  it  a  point  to 
speak  every  night  in  Parliament,  for  his  own  improvement: 
and  we  are  told  by  Lord  Holland,  his  nephew,  that  in 
whatever  employment  or  even  diversion  he  was  engaged, — 
whether  dress,  cards,  theatricals,  or  dinner, —  he  would  ex¬ 
ercise  his  faculties  with  wonderful  assiduity  and  attention 
till  he  had  reached  the  degree  of  perfection  he  aimed  at- 


A  PLEA  FOR  ORATORICAL  CULTURE. 


435 


Canning  was  almost  equally  laborious  in  bis  efforts  to 
perfect  himself  in  the  oratorical  art.  When  he  was 
about  to  make  an  important  speech,  his  whole  mind  was 
absorbed  in  it  for  two  or  three  days  beforehand,  “  He 
spared  no  labor,”  we  are  told,  “  either  in  obtaining  or  in 
arranging  his  materials.  He  always  drew  up  a  paper 
(which  he  used  in  the  House),  with  the  heads,  in  their 
order,  of  the  several  topics  on  which  he  meant  to  touch, 
and  these  heads  were  numbered,  and  the  numbers  some¬ 
times  extended  to  four  or  five  hundred .”  Minute  points  of 
accuracy  and  finish,  which  many  other  orators  would  have 
disdained  to  look  after,  received  his  sedulous  and  careful 
attention.  The  severity  of  Curran’s  oratorical  training 
reminds  one  of  that  of  the  old  Greeks.  Rarely  has  so 
great  an  advocate  been  made  out  of  such  unpromising 
materials.  Small  in  stature,  with  no  feature  but  a  spark¬ 
ling  eye  to  redeem  his  mean  appearance;  with  a  harsh 
voice,  a  hasty  articulation,  and  an  awkward  manner; 
known  at  school  as  “  stuttering  Jack  Curran,”  and  in  a 
debating  society  to  which  he  belonged  as  “  Orator  Mum,” 
on  account  of  a  failure  in  his  first  speech;  he  resolved, 
nevertheless,  to  overcome  all  these  disadvantages:  and 
overcome  them  he  did  so  completely,  that  they  almost 
passed  out  of  men’s  recollections.  To  gain  a  stock  of 
ideas,  he  spent  his  morning  “  in  reading  even  to  exhaus¬ 
tion,”  and  gave  the  rest  of  the  day  to  literary  studies. 
A  portion  of  his  time  was  given  to  the  classics,  of  which 
he  became  passionately  enamored, —  especially  of  Virgil. 
He  carried  a  copy  of  the  latter  always  in  his  pocket,  and, 
during  a  storm  at  sea,  his  biographer  found  him  crying 
over  the  fate  of  the  unhappy  Dido,  when  every  other  per¬ 
son  on  board  would  have  seen  Dido  hung  up  at  the  yard- 


436 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


arm  with  indifference.  He  made  himself  familiar  with  the 
whole  range  of  English  literature,  and  not  only  learned 
to  speak  French  like  a  native,  but  read  every  eminent 
author  in  that  language.  While  pursuing  these  studies 
with  indefatigable  zeal,  he  was  unremitting  in  his  efforts 
to  perfect  himself  as  a  speaker.  Constantly  on  the  watch 
against  bad  habits,  he  practiced  daily  before  a  glass,  recit¬ 
ing  passages  from  the  best  English  orators  and  authors. 
Speaking  often  in  debating-clubs,  in  spite  of  the  laughter 
which  his  early  failure  provoked,  he  at  last  surmounted 
every  obstacle.  “  He  turned  his  shrill  and  stumbling 
brogue  into  a  flexible,  sustained,  and  finely-modulated 
voice;  his  action  became  free  and  forcible;  and  he  acquired 
perfect  readiness  in  thinking  on  his  legs,” — in  a  word,  he 
became  one  of  the  most  eloquent  and  powerful  forensic 
advocates  that  the  world  has  seen. 

Erskine,  Brougham,  Pulteney,  Grattan,  Gladstone, —  all 
the  leading  orators  of  Great  Britain,  whatever  their  gen¬ 
ius, —  labored  with  equal  diligence  to  perfect  themselves 
in  the  art  of  speaking.  The  same  industry, —  as  could 
easily  be  shown,  had  we  space  for  examples, —  has  distin¬ 
guished  the  most  celebrated  French  orators.  Count  Mon- 
•  talembert,  one  of  the  most  eloquent  Frenchmen  of  the 
present  century,  when  he  was  attending  school  at  La- 
Roche,  Guyon,  in  1827,  wrote  thus  to  a  friend,  at  the  age 
of  seventeen,  concerning  his  oratorical  exercises:  “You 
would  laugh  heartily,  my  dear  friend,  if  you  could  but 
see  me  in  one  of  my  rambles,  whilst  I  follow  one  of  my 
favorite  pursuits, — declamation.  By  times,  in  the  depths 
of  the  woods,  I  begin  an  extempore  philippic  against  the 
cabinet  ministers;  and  all  at  once,  thanks  to  my  near¬ 
sightedness,  I  find  myself  face  to  face  with  some  wood- 


A  PLEA  FOR  ORATORICAL  CULTURE. 


437 


cutter  or  peasant  girl,  who  stares  at  me  in  amazement, 
and  probably  looks  upon  me  as  a  madman  just  escaped 
from  a  Bedlam.  So,  quite  ashamed  of  myself,  I  take  to 
my  heels;  and  once  more  set  to  work  at  gesticulating 
and  declaiming.” 

The  orators  of  America  are  no  exception  to  the  rule 
touching  the  price  of  excellence.  Not  one  of  them,  whose 
biography  has  been  given  to  the  public,  has  found  the 
road  to  success  “a  primrose  path  of  dalliance.”  We  have 
many  fifth-rate  speakers  who,  having  boundless  confidence 
in  their  native  gifts,  scorn  the  drudgery  of  a  long  ap¬ 
prenticeship  to  their  art,  and  trust  on  each  occasion,  not 
to  a  careful  preparation,  but  to  “  the  inspiration  of  the 
hour,”  confident  that  they  will  find  something  to  say  on 
their  themes,  when  they  have  “  fairly  warmed  up  to  them.” 
But  no  American  orator  whom  the  people  flock  to  hear, 
relies  on  the  inspiration  of  the  occasion,  unless  it  is 
strengthened  and  intensified  by  that  surer,  deeper,  and 
more  trustworthy  inspiration  which  comes  from  years  of 
self-culture  and  from  conscientious  preparation  for  each 
oratorical  effort.  The  half-educated  young  lawyer  or  rep¬ 
resentative  to  the  legislature  may  dream  over  the  fancied 
possession  of  intuitive  powers  which  he  never  displays; 
but  those  who  have  entered  the  arena  and  engaged  in 
the  contest,  know  that  mental  vigor  can  come  only  from 
discipline,  and  skill  from  persevering  practice. 

If  there  is  one  American  orator  more  than  another, 
who  might  be  supposed  to  have  derived  his  inspiration 
from  his  own  “heaven-born  genius”  and  the  excitement 
of  the  hour,  rather  than  from  hard  study,  and  who 
seemed  able  to  embody  fervid  feelings  in  vivid  and  glow¬ 
ing  language  without  the  slightest  effort,  it  was  Henry 


438 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


Clay.  But  though  endowed  with  the  greatest  natural 
gifts,  he  was  no  exception  to  the  rule  that  orator  fit.  He 
attributed  his  success  not  to  sudden  illuminations  wdiile 
speaking,  but  mainly  to  the  fact  that  he  began  at  the  age 
of  twenty-seven,  and  for  years  continued  the  practice  of 
daily  reading  and  speaking  upon  the  contents  of  some 
historical  or  scientific  book.  “  These  off-hand  efforts,”  he 
says,  “  were  sometimes  made  in  a  cornfield,  at  others  in 
the  forest,  and  not  unfrequently  in  some  distant  barn, 
with  the  horse  and  ox  for  my  auditors.  It  is  to  this 
early  practice  in  the  great  art  of  all  arts,  that  I  am  in¬ 
debted  for  the  primary  and  leading  impulses  that  stimu¬ 
lated  me  forward,  and  shaped  and  moulded  my  subsequent 
entire  destiny.  Improve,  then,  young  gentlemen,  the  su¬ 
perior  advantages  you  here  enjoy.  Let  not  a  day  pass 
without  exercising  your  powers  of  speech.”  We  have  al¬ 
ready  seen  what  efforts  Pinkney  and  Wirt  made  to  per¬ 
fect  their  oratorical  styles.  The  latter,  with  all  his  flu¬ 
ency  and  constant  experience  in  debate,  would  never  speak, 
if  he  could  help  it,  without  the  most  laborious  prepara¬ 
tion  ;  and  for  extemporaneous  after-dinner  speeches,  in 
particular,  he  had  a  mortal  horror.  He  was  a  diligent 
student  of  literature  as  well  as  the  law, —  especially  of 
Bacon,  Boyle,  Hooker,  Locke,  and  the  other  fathers  of 
English  literature,  among  the  moderns,  and  among  the 
ancients,  of  Quintilian,  Seneca,  and  Horace;  and  a  pocket 
edition  of  the  latter  poet,  well  thumbed  and  marked,  was 
his  constant  companion  upon  his  journeys.  “He  was  al¬ 
ways,”  says  one  who  knew  him,  “a  man  of  labor;  occa¬ 
sionally  of  most  intense  and  unremitting  labor.  He  was 
the  most  improving  man,  also,  I  ever  knew  ;  for.  I  can 
truly  say  that  I  never  heard  him  speak  after  any  length 


A  PLEA  FOE  ORATORICAL  CULTURE. 


439 


of  time,  without  being  surprised  and  delighted  at  his  im¬ 
provement,  both  in  manner  and  substance.”  In  a  letter 
to  a  young  law-student,  he  gives  this  advice:  “  I  would 
commit  to  memory  and  recite  a  la  mode  de  Garrick, 
the  finest  parts  of  Shakspeare,  to  tune  the  voice  by  culti¬ 
vating  all  the  varieties  of  its  melody,  to  give  the  muscles 
of  the  face  all  their  motion  and  expression,  and  to  acquire 
an  habitual  use  and  gracefulness  of  gesture  and  command 
of  the  stronger  passions  of  the  soul.  I  would  recite  my 
own  compositions,  and  compose  them  for  recitation;  I  would 
address  my  own  recitations  to  trees  and  stones,  and  falling 
streams,  if  I  could  not  get  a  living  audience,  and  blush 
not  even  if  I  were  caught  at  it.” 

Daniel  Webster  was  a  prodigy  of  physical  and  intel¬ 
lectual  endowment;  but  his  greatest  gift  was  a  prodigious 
capacity  for  hard  work.  Far  from  furnishing  encourage¬ 
ment  to  those  who  trust  to  their  inborn  powers  of  ora¬ 
tory,  he  furnishes  one  of  the  most  striking  of  the  thou¬ 
sand  illustrations  of  the  truth  that  the  greatest  genius, 
like  the  richest  soil,  yields  its  choicest  fruits  only  to  the 
most  careful  tillage.  He  told  Senator  Fessenden  that  the 
most  admired  figures  and  illustrations  in  his  speeches,  which 
were  supposed  to  have  been  thrown  off  in  the  excitement 
of  the  moment,  were,  like  the  “hoarded  repartees”  and  cut- 
and-dry  impromptus  of  Sheridan,  the  result  of  previous 
study  and  meditation.  On  one  occasion  he  told,  with  ex¬ 
traordinary  effect,  an  anecdote  which  he  had  kept  pigeon¬ 
holed  in  the  cells  of  his  brain  for  fourteen  years,  wait¬ 
ing  for  an  opportunity  to  use  it.  The  vivid  and  pictur¬ 
esque  passage  on  the  greatness  and  power  of  England, — 
than  which  neither  Burke  nor  Chatham  ever  conceived 
anything  more  brilliant, —  was  conceived  and  wrought  out 


440 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


years  before  it  was  delivered,  while  its  author  was  stand¬ 
ing  in  the  citadel  at  Quebec,  listening  to  the  drum-beats 
that  summoned  the  British  soldiers  to  their  posts.  Mr. 
Webster  once  told  his  friend  Peter  Harvey  that  his  great 
speech  in  reply  to  Hayne,  which  was  generally  supposed 
to  have  been  delivered  without  preparation,  had  been  sub¬ 
stantially  prepared  long  before,  for  another  but  not  dis¬ 
similar  occasion,  so  that  when  he  was  called  upon  sud¬ 
denly  to  defend  the  honor  of  New  England  against  the 
fiery  Carolinian’s  attacks,  he  had  only  to  turn  to  his  “notes 
tucked  away  in  a  pigeon-hole,”  and  refresh  his  memory 
with  his  former  well-weighed  arguments  and  glowing 
periods.  As  he  himself  said,  he  had  only  to  reach  out 
for  a  thunderbolt,  and  hurl  it  at  him.  “  If  Hayne  had 
tried,”  he  said,  “  to  make  a  speech  to  fit  my  notes,  he 
could  not  have  hit  it  better.  No  man  is  inspired  by  the 
occasion;  I  never  was.”  At  another  time,  being  questioned 
by  a  young  clergyman  about  his  speeches  which  were 
delivered  upon  the  spur  of  the  moment,  Mr.  Webster 
opened  his  large  eyes,  with  apparent  surprise,  and  ex¬ 
claimed,  “  Young  man,  there  is  no  such  thing  as  extempo¬ 
raneous  acquisition /”  “The  word  ‘acquisition,’”  remarks 
Mr.  Harvey,  “  was  exceedingly  well  chosen.  Mr.  Webster 
knew  that  there  was  extemporaneous  speaking  every  day. 
What  he  evidently  intended  to  convey  was,  that  knowl¬ 
edge  could  not  be  acquired  without  study;  that  it  did 
not  come  by  inspiration  or  by  accident.”  Even  in  writ¬ 
ing  a  brief  letter,  or  note  of  presentation  in  a  volume, 
he  was  fastidious  in  his  choice  of  words  and  phrases,  try¬ 
ing  different  forms  of  expression  again  and  again  before 
he  could  satisfy  his  severe  and  exacting  taste. 

Edward  Everett,  the  most  scholarly  of  all  our  public 


A  PLEA  FOR  ORATORICAL  CULTURE. 


441 


speakers,  was  unwearied  in  his  efforts  to  improve  his  ora¬ 
torical  talents.  Not  only  did  he  write  out  his  speeches 
with  the  most  fastidious  care,  but  he  took  great  pains  to 
perfect  his  gestures  and  the  mechanism  of  his  voice. 
Persons  who  knew  him  well,  say  that  even  till  he  was 
sixty  years  old,  you  might  have  heard  from  his  library, 
in  the  hush  of  evening,  the  low*  tones  of  familiar  talk  in 
which  he  was  practicing  his  utterances  for  the  platform. 
Of  course,  it  is  possible,  as  that  speaker  did  latterly,  to 
carry  this  too  far.  We  would  counsel  ,no  person  to  waste 
his  vitality  in  the  study  of  petty  effects,  as  Everett  did 
when  he  pressed  his  handkerchief  to  his  ejes  so  many  hun¬ 
dred  times  at  precisely  the  same  point  in  his  eulogy  on 
Washington;  or  when  he  wrote  to  a  friend  and  asked 
whether,  if,  in  a  certain  passage  in  a  lecture  which  he 
was  about  to  give,  he  should  put  his  finger  into  a  tum¬ 
bler  of  water,  and  allow  the  water  to  trickle  off  drop  by 
drop,  it  would  produce  an  effect  on  the  audience.  Tricks 
like  these  are  too  transparent,  and  are  not  to  be  con¬ 
founded  with  the  study  of  natural  and  appropriate  ges¬ 
tures.  Everett  was  the  last  of  the  artificial  school  of 
orators  who  practiced  them,  and  even  he,  with  all  his 
splendid  rhetoric,  lived  to  see  the  wane  of  his  artificial 
power  before  the  hard  sense  and  sturdy  realism  of  the 

nineteenth  centurv. 

«/ 

In  nine  cases  out  of  ten  persons  who  object  to  elocu¬ 
tionary  studies  and  exercises,  are  thinking  not  of  the 
legitimate  results  of  such  a  training,  but  of  extreme  cases 
like  that  of  this  great  rhetorician.  It  is  not  so  much  to 
elocutionary  skill  that  they  object,  as  to  the  artistic  air 
which  kills  everything, —  to  a  manner  perfectly  shaped  by 
conscious  skill  and  regulation.  There  are  few  who  will 


442 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


not  agree  with  them  that  if  a  speaker  so  trained  gets  to 
be  absolutely  faultless,  that  is  about  the  greatest  fault 
possible,  and  that,  after  such  an  exhibition,  it  is  even  re¬ 
freshing,  as  Dr.  Bushnell  says,  “to  imagine  the  great  ‘bab¬ 
bler’  at  Athens  jerking  out  his  grand  periods,  and  stam¬ 
mering  his  thunder  in  a  way  so  uncouth  as  to  become 
a  little  contemptible  to  himself.”  Far  preferable  to  the 
over- finished  and  artificial  oratory  of  Everett,  who  had 
mastered  every  art  of  elocution  but  that  of  concealing 
art,  was  the  more  natural  and  spontaneous,  though  at 
times  bizarre  and  eccentric,  oratory  of  Rufus  Choate.  The 
most  accomplished  advocate  of  America,  he  was  a  splen¬ 
did  illustration  of  what  laborious  culture  and  systematic 
self- training  can  do.  Never,  for  a  moment,  did  he  think 
of  trusting  to  native  genius  or  the  inspiration  of  the  oc¬ 
casion  in  his  speaking.  Forensic  eloquence  was  the  study 
of  his  life,  and  for  forty  years  he  let  no  day  pass  without 
an  effort  to  perfect  himself  in  the  art  of  addressing  his 
fellow-men.  Far  from  sneering,  a£  so  many  do,  at  the 
teachings  of  the  elocutionist,  he  said  to  one  of  his  stu¬ 
dents, — “ Elocutionary  training  I  most  highly  approve  of; 
I  would  go  to  an  elocutionist  myself,  if  I  could  get  time. 
.  .  .  I  have  always,  even  before  I  first  went  to  Congress, 
practiced  daily  a  sort  of  elocutionary  culture,  combined  with 
a  culture  of  the  emotional  nature .”  In  the  symmetry  of 
his  training,  and  the  incessant  zeal  with  which  he  strove 
to  develop,  invigorate,  and  discipline  every  faculty  of  mind 
and  body,  he  reminds  us  of  the  ancient  Greeks.  Of  no 
man  can  it  be  more  truly  said  that  his  genius  was  mainly 
“  science  in  disguise.” 

Of  all  the  living  pulpit  orators  of  America,  Henry 
Ward  Beecher  is  confessedly  one  of  the  most  brilliant. 


A  PLEA  FOR  ORATORICAL  CULTURE. 


443 


The  son  of  a  great  pulpit  orator,  endowed  with  the  rarest 
and  most  versatile  abilities,  he,  if  any  man  could  do  so, 
might  dispense,  one  would  suppose,  with  a  tedious  and 
protracted  training  in  the  art  of  speaking.  But  what  do 
we  find  to  have  been  his  education?  Did  he  shun  the 
professors  of  elocution,  believing,  as  do  so  many  of  his 
brethren,  that  oratory,  like  Dogberry’s  reading  and  writ¬ 
ing,  comes  by  nature?  No,  he  placed  himself,  when  at 
college,  under  a  skillful  teacher,  and  for  three  years  was 
drilled  incessantly,  he  says,  in  posturing,  gesture,  and 
voice-culture.  Luckily  he  had  a  teacher  who  had  no  faith 
in  Procrustean  systems,  and  never  cared  to  put  “  Prof. 
Lovell,  his  x  mark  ”  on  his  pupils,  but  simply  helped  his 
pupils  to  discover  and  bring  out  what  was  in  themselves. 
Later,  at  the  theological  seminary,  Mr.  Beecher  continued 
his  drill.  There  was  a  large  grove  between  the  seminary 
and  his  father’s  house,  and  it  was  the  habit,  he  tells  us, 
of  his  brother  Charles  and  himself,  with  one  or  two  oth¬ 
ers,  to  make  the  night,  and  even  the  day,  hideous  with 
their  voices,  as  they  passed  backward  and  forward  through 
the  wood,  exploding  all  the  vowels  from  the  bottom  to 
the  very  top  of  their  voices.  And  what  was  the  result 
of  all  these  exercises?  Was  it  a  stiff,  cramped  style  of 
speaking,  or  was  it  omnis  effusns  labor ?  “The  drill  that 
I  underwent,”  says  this  many-sided  orator,  “produced,  not 
a  rhetorical  manner,  but  a  flexible  instrument,  that  ac¬ 
commodated  itself  readily  to  every  kind  of  thought  and 
every  shape  of  feeling,  and  obeyed  the  inward  will  in  the 
outward  realization  of  the  results  of  rules  and  regulations.” 

How  signally  do  the  examples  we  have  cited  illustrate 
the  truth  of  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds’s  remark  that  the  effects 
of  genius  must  have  their  causes,  and  that  these  may,  for 


444 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


the  most  part,  be  analyzed,  digested,  and  copied,  though 
sometimes  they  may  be  too  subtle  to  be  reduced  to  a 
written  art!  They  prove  conclusively,  we  think,  that  the 
great  orators,  of  ancient  and  modern  times,  have  trusted, 
not  to  native  endowments,  but  to  careful  culture;  that  it 
was  to  the  infinitus  labor  et  quotidiana  meditatio ,  of  which 
Tacitus  speaks,  that  they  owed  their  triumphs;  that,  mar¬ 
vellous  as  were  their  gifts,  they  were  less  than  the  igno¬ 
rant  rated  them;  and  that  even  the  mightiest,  the  elect 
natures,  that  are  supposed  to  be  above  all  rules,  conde¬ 
scended  to  methods  by  which  the  humblest  may  profit. 

In  answer  to  all  this,  some  one  may  cite  the  “  natural 
oratory”  of  Abraham  Lincoln,  who  owed  as  little  to  books 
and  teachers  as  perhaps  any  man  of  equal  eminence.  But 
even  he  did  not  win  his  successes  without  toil.  His  finest 
effort,  the  immortal  Gettysburg  speech, —  which,  brief  as  it 
is,  will  be  read  and  remembered  long  after  Edward  Ever¬ 
ett’s  ambitious  oration,  which  occupied  hours  in  the  deliv¬ 
ery,  shall  have  been  forgotten, — was  prepared  with  extra- 
ordinaiy  care.  According  to  the  statement  of  Mr.  Noah 
Brooks,  his  friend,  it  was  written  and  re-written  many 
times.  The  same  conscientious  painstaking,  even  in  the 
veriest  trifles,  distinguishes  all  the  great  actors  and  public 
readers  who  have  won  the  ear  of  the  public.  It  is  said 
that  a  person  once  heard  a  man  crying  “  murder,”  in  the 
room  under  his  own,  in  a  hotel,  for  two  hours  in  succession. 
Upon  inquiry,  he  found  that  it  was  Macready,  the  trage¬ 
dian,  practicing  on  a  word,  to  get  the  right  agonized  tone. 
A  gentleman  in  Chicago,*  who  has  had  occasion  to  learn 
some  of  the  secrets  of  Charlotte  Cushman’s  mastery  of  her 
art,  tells  us  that  she  never,  in  her  public  readings,  read 


*  Mr.  George  B.  Carpenter. 


A  PLEA  FOR  ORATORICAL  CULTURE. 


445 


the  pettiest  anecdote,  or  even  a  few  verses,  without  the 
most  careful  and  laborious  preparation.  On  one  occa¬ 
sion,  in  Chicago,  she  prepared  herself  for  an  encore  by 
selecting  a  comic  negro  anecdote  that  met  her  eye,  which 
filled  about  twenty  lines  in  a  newspaper.  For  three  or 
four  days  she  read  and  re-read  this  story  in  her  private 
room,  trying  the  effect  of  different  styles  of  recitation, 
now  emphasizing  this  word,  now  that,  now  pitching  her 
voice  to  one  key  and  now  to  another,  till  she  had  discov¬ 
ered  what  seemed  to  be  the  best  way  to  bring  out  its 
ludicrous  features  into  the  boldest  relief.  When  Rachel 
was  about  to  play  in  Paris  a  scene  from  “  Louise  de  Lig- 
nerolle,”  she  spent  three  hours  in  studying  it,  though  it 
comprised  but  thirty  lines.  Every  word  was  rehearsed  in 
all  possible  ways,  to  discover  its  “  truest  and  most  pene¬ 
trating  utterance.”  So  true  is  it  that  the  greatest  geniuses 
in  every  art  invariably  labor  at  that  art  far  more  than 
all  others,  because  their  very  genius  shows  them  the  neces¬ 
sity  and  value  of  such  labor ,  and  thus  helps  them  to  per¬ 
sist  in  it!  So  true  is  it  that  whether  in  oratory,  poetry, 
music,  painting,  or  sculpture,  no  artist  attains  to  that  ex¬ 
cellence  in  which  effort  concealed  steals  the  charm  of  intu¬ 
ition,  unless  he  is  totus  in  illo , —  unless,  as  Bulwer  says, 
“  all  which  is  observed  in  ordinary  life,  as  well  as  all  which 
is  observed  in  severer  moments,  contributes  to  the  special 
faculties  which  the  art  itself  has  called  into  an  energy  so 
habitually  pervading  the  whole  intellectual  constitution, 
that  the  mind  is  scarcely  conscious  of  the  work  which  it 
undergoes”!  The  prodigies  of  genius,  so  far  from  being 
favored  by  nature  and  allowed  to  dispense  with  toil,  would 
probably,  as  Professor  Channing,  of  Harvard,  says,  show 
to  us,  their  short-sighted  worshipers,  were  they  able  to 


446 


ORATORY  AND  ORATORS. 


reveal  to  ns  the  mystery  of  their  growth,  a  far  more  thor¬ 
ough  course  of  education,  a  more  strict,  though  perhaps 
unconscious  obedience  to  principles,  than  even  the  most 
dependent  of  their  brethren  have  been  subjected  to. 

We  say,  then,  to  the  reader, — Would  you  wield  the 
mighty  power, —  the  thunderbolt, —  of  oratory?  Listen  to 
the  words  of  Salvini,  the  great  actor,  to  the  pupils  in 
his  art:  “Above  all,  study, — study , —  study.  All  the  genius 
in  the  world  will  not  help  you  along  with  any  art,  unless 
you  become  a  hard  student.  It  has  taken  me  years  to 
master  a  single  part.”  The  same  performer  is  now  occu¬ 
pied  with  the  role  of  King  Lear,  which  he  says  it  will  take 
him  two  years  to  study  thoroughly.  To  speak  as  Nature 
prompts, —  to  give  utterance  to  one’s  thoughts  and  feel¬ 
ings  in  appropriate  tones  and  with  appropriate  gestures, — 
seems  too  easy  to  require  much  labor.  But,  as  it  has  been 
well  observed,  simple  as  truth  is,  it  is  almost  always  as 
difficult  to  attain  as  it  is  triumphant  when  acquired.  It 
is  said  that  one  day  a  youth  walked  into  the  studio  of 
Michael  Angelo  in  his  absence,  and  with  a  bit  of  chalk 
dashed  a  slight  line  on  the  wall.  When  the  great  master 
returned,  he  did  not  need  to  ask  who  had  visited  him;  the 
little  line,  as  true  as  a  ray  from  heaven,  was  the  unmis¬ 
takable  autograph  of  Raphael.  Doubtless  in  every  profes¬ 
sion  there  are  men  who  leap  to  the  heights  without  much 
training;  but  we  know  not  how  much  higher  they  might 
have  risen,  had  they  added  all  possible  acquired  ability 
to  the  gifts  of  nature.  “  Where  natural  logic  prevails 
not,”  says  Sir  Thomas  Browne,  “  artificial  too  often  faileth; 
but  when  industry  builds  upon  nature,  we  may  expect 
Pyramids.” 


INDEX. 


A 

Acting,  “impulsive,”  420. 

Actors,  when  most  successful,  113, 
114. 

Adams,  John,  his  eloquence,  18. 

Addison,  his  failure  in  oratory, 
187. 

Ames,  Fisher,  his  study  of  the 
Scriptures,  167;  his  eloquence, 
180. 

Apostrophe,  examples  of,  95. 

Aristotle,  on  metaphors,  104. 

Athens,  its  oratory,  33. 

Automatic  action  of  the  mind, 
191,  192. 

B 

Bacon,  Lord,  his  oratory,  197,  226. 

Baron,  the  actor,  114. 

Baxter,  Richard,  saying  of,  128. 

Beecher,  Edward,  D.D.,  anecdote 
of,  87. 

Beecher,  Rev.  Henry  Ward,  on 
the  voice,  87;  his  elocutionary 
training,  442,  443. 

Beranger,  187. 

Berryer,  M.,  86. 

Betterton,  the  actor,  saying  of, 

110. 

Bolingbroke,  Lord,  his  oratory, 
13,  227-232;  his  style,  188,  228- 
230;  his  natural  and  acquired 
talents,  227,  228 ;  Chatham’s 
opinion  of  his  eloquence,  228; 
his  invective,  229 ;  excluded 
from  Parliament,  229 ;  his  writ¬ 
ings,  231;  Brougham’s  opinion 
of  his  oratory,  231. 

Bossuet,  his  eloquence,  22-24;  on 
the  death  of  Henriette  Anne 
d’Angleterre,  28;  his  classical 
studies,  167;  his  study  of  the 

417 


Bible,  167;  his  preparation  of 
a  sermon,  180. 

Bourdaloue,  his  eloquence,  22. 

Brooks,  Phillips,  quoted,  128. 

Brougham,  Lord,  his  physical  con¬ 
stitution,  64;  on  speaking,  86; 
his  voice,  134;  on  the  test  of 
oratorical  power,  136;  his  power 
in  reply,  137;  recommends  the 
practice  of  translation,  171;  his 
use  of  the  pen,  179,  184;  his 
style,  188;  his  oratory  described, 
258-267;  his  energy,  91,  92,  258; 
his  faults,  259,  260;  his  force 
in  assault,  260 ;  his  irony, 
sarcasm,  and  invective,  261;  his 
personal  appearance,  261,  262; 
his  speech  on  Law  Reform,  262; 
his  felicity  in  description,  262; 
his  invective  against  Pitt,  263; 
his  speeches  on  Negro  Emanci¬ 
pation,  263,  264;  his  power  as 
an  advocate,  264, 265 ;  his  speech 
in  defense  of  Williams,  265- 
267 ;  his  contrast  of  Burke  with 
Demosthenes,  274. 

Bulwer,  Sir  Henry  L.,  on  the 
House  of  Commons,  205. 

Burgess,  Tristam,  anecdote  of, 
146. 

Burke,  Edmund,  his  speech  at 
Hastings’s  trial,  15,  16;  on  the 
oratory  of  his  own  age,  32;  his 
quotations  from  the  classics,  59; 
his  voice,  74;  a  master  of  meta¬ 
phor,  104;  his  popularity  as  a 
speaker,  134;  his  readiness  in 
retort,  155 ;  insulted  in  the 
Houke  of  Commons,  155;  his 
quotations  from  the  poets,  166; 
unpopular  as  a  speaker,  204; 
his  invectives,  216;  his  oratory 


448 


INDEX. 


described,  268-275,  800;  his  en¬ 
cyclopaedic  knowledge,  268;  his 
imagination, 269;  his  prejudices, 
269;  his  oratorical  defects,  270- 
273;  criticised  by  Henry  Rogers, 
271;  his  lack  of  delicacy,  272; 
his  speech  on  the  Nabob  of 
Arcot’s  debts,  273-275;  on  Sher¬ 
idan’s  eloquence,  281 ;  his  labo¬ 
rious  self-culture,  433,  434. 

Bushnell,  Horace,  D.D.,  on  the 
dearth  of  eloquent  ministers, 
68. 

C 

Caffarelli,  77. 

Calhoun,  John  C.,his  logical  m£nd, 
139;  his  personal  appearance 
and  manner  in  speaking,  312, 
313;  debate  with  Clay  in  1840, 
313-315;  his  mental  and  moral 
qualities,  321,  322;  contrasted 
wifch  Webster  and  Clay,  321, 
322. 

Calmness,  its  advantages  in  ora¬ 
tory,  119,  120. 

Canning,  George,  his  speech  on 
Portugal,  16;  on  Parliamentary 
oratory,  47;  his  irony,  121;  his 
first  speech  in  the  House  of 
Commons,  145;  his  use  of  the 
pen,  179;  his  oratory  charac¬ 
terized,  251-258;  his  personal 
appearance,  252;  his  early 
speeches,  252;  his  failure  in 
declamation,  253;  his  excessive 
elaboration,  253,  254;  extracts 
from  his  speeches,  255-258;  his 
knowledge  of  finance,  255;  his 
wit,  256;  his  contests  with 
Brougham,  261 ;  his  preparation 
for  speaking,  435. 

Carlyle,  Thomas,  on  Daniel  Web¬ 
ster’s  eyes,  323. 

Castlereagh,  Lord,  225. 

Chalmers,  his  oratory,  22;  his 
massiveness  of  frame,  65;  his 
manner  of  speaking,  134;  his 
failure  in  extempore  speech, 
148;  his  oratory  characterized, 
400-406;  his  personal  appear¬ 
ance  and  manner,  400-402;  his 
iteration,  402, 403;  his  failure  in 


extempore  preaching,  403;  illus¬ 
trations  of  his  power,  405,  506. 

Chatham,  Lord,  his  influence  as 
an  orator,  14;  his  voice,  74, 233; 
his  force,  91,  234;  his  oratorical 
frenzy,  109;  his  fastidiousness 
and  painstaking,  133,  232;  his 
treatment  of  Erskine,  152;  rous¬ 
ed  by  opposition,  157 ;  his  trans¬ 
lations,  170 ;  his  oratory  not 
always  successful,  207;  his  per¬ 
sonalities,  215,  216;  character¬ 
ization  of  his  oratory,  232-239; 
his  lack  of  learning,  233;  his 
force  of  assertion, 234;  anecdotes 
of,  234-236;  his  wordiness  and 
iteration,  236,  237 ;  described  by 
Wilkes,  238;  his  oratorical  self¬ 
culture,  431. 

Chesterfield,  Lord,  his  transla¬ 
tions,  170;  on  the  House  of 
Commons,  204;  on  oratory,  428. 

Choate,  Rufus,  on  Webster's  elo¬ 
quence,  36;  on  abstractions  in 
oratory,  103;  his  oriental  looks 
and  style,  138;  his  nervousness, 
150 ;  his  study  of  literature  and 

z  words,  166,  167;  on  translation, 
171;  his  admiration  of  Pink- 
hey,  175;  commends  the  use  of 
the  pen,  183;  his  success  with 
juries,  210;  his  oratory  charac¬ 
terized,  365-378;  his  personal 
appearance,  366,  367;  his  ener¬ 
gy,  367;  his  defenses  of  crimi¬ 
nals,  869;  his  triumph  over 
Boston  prejudice,  369,  370;  his 
dialectic  skill,  371;  his  skill  in 
jury  cases,  371-373;  his  long 
sentences,  373;  his  style  de¬ 
scribed  by  Everett,  374;  ex¬ 
tracts  from  his  speeches,  375; 
his  wit,  376,  377 ;  his  exaggera¬ 
tion,  377;  his  copiousness  of 
style,  377;  his  emphasis,  378; 
his  oratorical  training,  442. 

Chrysostom,  his  classical  studies, 
165,  his  eloquence,  22. 

Cicero,  power  of  his  oratory,  12, 
13;  on  the  eloquence  of  Demos¬ 
thenes,  68;  his  intense  feeling, 
109;  on  Asiatic  oratory,  137;  his 


INDEX. 


449 


nervousness  and  timidity  in 
speaking,  147,  148;  his  severe 
oratorical  training,  429,  430. 

Clay,  Henry,  his  voice,  75,  134, 
319;  his  oratory  described,  311- 
322;  his  personal  appearance, 
311,  312,  319;  his  debate  with 
Calhoun  in  1840,  313-315;  his 
slender  education,  316,  317;  his 
success  as  a  lawyer,  318;  his 
partial  failures  in  speech- mak¬ 
ing,  319;  his  absorption  in  his 
themes,  319;  his  speech  at  Lex¬ 
ington,  after  leaving  Congress, 
320;  his  oratorical  training,  437, 
438. 

Climate,  its  effect  on  eloquence, 
137-139. 

Cobden,  Richard,  his  first  speech, 
144. 

Coleridge,  S.  T.,  saying  of,  158. 

Congress,  the  U.S.,  its  personali¬ 
ties,  215. 

Conversation,  an  aid  to  oratory, 
190. 

Curran,  John  Philpot,  his  phys¬ 
ical  vigor,  65;  his  skill  in  cli¬ 
max,  102;  his  metaphors,  105; 
on  the  use  of  tropes,  107;  his 
wit,  121;  his  first  speech,  144; 
his  readiness,  153;  his  use  of 
the  pen,  179;  his  defenses  of 
political  prisoners,  207,  208;  his 
oratorical  studies,  435,  436. 

Cushman,  Charlotte,  her  painstak¬ 
ing,  444. 

D 

D’Alembert,  on  oratory,  10.  - 

Demosthenes,  his  voice,  80;  his 
force,  91;  saying  of,  112;  his  toil, 
133;  his  careful  preparation  for 
speaking,  185;  his  triumph  over 
difficulties,  428,  429. 

De  Quincey,  Thomas,  on  tautology 
in  popular  oratory,  197, 198;  on 
the  inspiration  of  organists,  339. 

Dewey,  Orville,  D.D.,  his  elocu¬ 
tion,  86. 

Discourses,  contrast  between 
spoken  and  printed,  193-200. 

Disraeli,  Benjamin  (Lord  Bea- 
39* 


consfield),  his  sarcasms,  123, 
218,  219. 

E 

Edwards,  Jonathan,  his  power  in 
the  pulpit,  24. 

Eldon,  Lord,  150. 

Elocution,  objections  to  its  study, 
89,  419-423,  421. 

Eloquence,  the  study  of  speci¬ 
mens,  172-174;  its  tests,  193— 
213;  is  in  the  audience,  203; 
inconsistent  with  deep  think¬ 
ing,  203-205;  contrasted  with 
wisdom,  204;  a  relative  term, 
212,  213,  281;  cannot  be  re¬ 
ported,  316;  not  a  gift  of  nature 
purely,  413-417.  (See  Oratory.) 

Emerson,  R.  W.,  on  oratory,  10, 
50;  on  the  eloquence  of  a  Bos¬ 
ton  preacher,  24;  on  insincerity 
of  speech,  113,  128. 

Emmet,  his  misquotation,  61. 

Emmons,  Nathaniel,  D.D.,  108. 

Energy  in  oratory,  89-102;  a  char¬ 
acteristic  of  Demosthenes,  Chat¬ 
ham,  and  Brougham,  91,  92, 
258;  also  of  John  Marshall,  92; 
increased  by  interrogation,  94, 
95;  by  exclamation  and  apos- 

.  trophe,  96;  by  gesture,  95;  by 
expression  of  countenance,  99 
dependent  on  choice  and  num¬ 
ber  of  words,  100;  should  be 
accrescent,  101,  102. 

Erskine,  Harry,  153,  154. 

Erskine,  Lord,  his  phtjsique,  65, 
358;  his  skill  in  climax,  102; 
on  the  source  of  eloquence,  109 ; 
his  wit,  123;  his  embarrass¬ 
ment  in  his  maiden  speeches, 
144;  his  sensitiveness  to  annoy¬ 
ance,  151,  152;  his  study  of 
English  literature,  166,  347 ;  his 
use  of  the  pen,  180;  on  repeti¬ 
tion,  197;  his  success  in  jury 
addresses,  207,  208;  his  opinion 
of  one  of  Burke’s  speeches,  272; 
his  oratory  characterized,  346- 
359;  his  early  education,  347; 
his  speech  in  defense  of  Baillie, 
348-352;  his  rapid  success,  357; 


450 


INDEX. 


his  defense  of  Lord  George  Gor¬ 
don,  352;  his  speeches  on  the 
state  trials,  352;  extracts  from 
his  defense  of  Stockdale,  352, 
353;  his  speech  on  the  trial  of 
Paine,  354;  his  oratorical  ex¬ 
cellences,  354-358;  his  knowl¬ 
edge  of  the  human  mind,  356; 
his  study  of  the  feelings  of 
juries,  356;  his  concentration 
in  argument,  358;  his  personal 
magnetism,  358;  his  speeches 
commended  as  models,  359. 

Everett,  Edward,  contrasted  with 
John  B.  Gough,  135;  his  mem¬ 
orizing  of  his  speeches,  176, 
177;  his  description  of  Web¬ 
ster’s  appearance  when  reply¬ 
ing  to  Hayne,  333-,  334;  his 
oratory  described,  337-345;  his 
fastidious  preparation  of  his 
speeches,  337-338;  his  polished 
rhetoric,  339;  his  lack  of  aban¬ 
donment,  339;  his  speeches, 
“stand-up  essays,”  340;  his 
phrases  contrasted  with  Web¬ 
ster’s,  340;  his  oratorical  mer¬ 
its,  341-345;  his  style,  341,  342; 
passages  from  his  speeches,  342 ; 
the  variety  of  his  discourses,  342, 
343;  his  first  Phi- Beta- Kappa 
oration,  343;  his  Plymouth  and 
Concord  addresses,  343;  his  eu¬ 
logy  on  La  Fayette,  344;  his 
looks,  voice,  and  gestures,  344; 
his  self-culture  and  preparation 
of  his  speeches,  440,  441. 

Exclamation,  95. 

Expression  of  countenance,  99. 

F 

Fenelon,  Archbishop,  his  oratory, 

22. 

Ferguson,  of  Pitfour,  anecdote  of, 
46. 

Follett,  Sir  William,  149. 

Force  in  oratory,  see  Energy. 

Forsyth,  William,  on  forensic  ora¬ 
tory  in  England,  36. 

Foster,  John,  on  Lord  Chatham’s 
force,  91;  on  Robert  Hall’s 
preaching,  398. 


Fox,  Charles  James,  his  ignorance 
of  political  economy,  47 ;  his 
earnestness,  112;  his  oratory 
weakened  by  his  immoralities, 
126,  127;  his  manner,  134;  his 
classical  studies,  165;  his  fail¬ 
ure  as  a  writer,  187 ;  on  speedier 
that  read  well,  195;  his  advice 
to  Romilly,  197 ;  his  oratory 
characterized, 244-251;  his  early 
training,  244;  his  passion  for 
gaming,  245;  his  love  of  Ital¬ 
ian  literature,  245;  his  love  of 
argument,  247;  his  painstak¬ 
ing,  247 ;  his  habits  of  dissipa¬ 
tion,  248;  his  ignorance  of  phi¬ 
losophy  and  political  economy, 
249;  his  power  in  reply,  249; 
his  social  qualities,  249;  his  wit, 
250;  contrasted  with  Pitt,  250, 
251;  his  practice  of  speaking, 
434. 

Franklin,  Dr.  Benjamin,  on  the 
importance  of  honesty  to  an 
orator,  125, 126. 

French  and  English  oratory  com¬ 
pared,  212. 

G 

Gardiner,  Wm.,  on  loud  tones,  85. 

Gavazzi,  96. 

Gesticulation,  95-98;  Quintilian 
on,  96-97;  Daniel  Webster's, 
96;  excessive,  98;  faults  of,  98, 
99. 

Gibson,  T.  Milner,  M.P.,  his  wit, 
120;  on  the  House  of  Commons, 
204. 

Gladstone,  Wm.,  M.P.,  his  classic 
quotations,  62;  his  voice,  75;  as 
a  speaker  and  writer,  188. 

Goethe,  on  beauty,  129;  on  writ¬ 
ing  and  speaking,  193. 

Gough,  John  B.,  and  Edward 
Everett  contrasted,  135. 

Grattan,  Henry,  his  emulation  of 
Chatham,  174;  his  retort  upon 
Flood,  216,  217;  on  Chatham’s 
eloquence,  233;  his  oratory  char¬ 
acterized,  287-293;  his  admira¬ 
tion  of  Chatham,  287;  his  pri¬ 
vate  declamations,  287 ;  hi? 


INDEX. 


451 


natural  defects,  287,  288;  de¬ 
scribed  by  Mr.  Lecky.  288;  his 
grandeur,  288;  his  excellences 
and  faults,  280-290,  300;  pas¬ 
sages  from  his  speeches,  290- 
292;  on  C.  J.  Fox,  291;  a  born 
orator,  292. 

Gray,  the  poet,  saying  of,  114. 

Guido,  90. 

Guthrie,  Thomas,  D.D.,  contrast 
between  his  spoken  and  printed 
sermons,  199. 

H 

Hall,  Robert,  his  oratory  charac¬ 
terized,  391-392;  his  precocity, 
391;  his  early  failures  in  the 
pulpit,  392;  his  education,  393; 
his  popularity,  393;  his  principal 
sermons,  393,  394;  his  personal 
appearance,  395;  the  secret  of 
his  power,  395, 396;  his  manner, 
396;  his  self-abandonment;  his 
imitation  of  Doctors  Robinson 
and  Johnson,  398, 399;  on  tropes 
and  figures,  399;  on  Chalmers’s 
iteration,  402. 

Hamilton,  Alexander,  182. 

Hamilton,  W.  G.,  his  advice  to 
public  speakers,  183,  184. 

Handel,  the  composer,  his  sensi¬ 
bility,  114,  115. 

Hastings,  Warren,  his  trial,  15, 16. 

Hazlitt,  William,  on  Burke’s  style, 
104;  on  speakers  and  writers, 
202;  on  eloquence  and  wisdom, 
204. 

Head,  Sir  Francis,  on  Indian  ora¬ 
tory,  26. 

Henry,  Patrick,  his  speech  on 
“the  tobacco  case,”  17,303,304; 
his  speech  on  American  inde¬ 
pendence,  18;  his  affectation, 
133:  his  timidity  as  a  speaker, 
148;  his  coolness  in  crises,  157; 
a  proof  of  his  eloquence,  210; 
his  oratory  characterized,  301- 
311;  his  defective  education, 
301 ;  his  distaste  for  labor,  302 ; 
his  taste  for  reading  and  the 
study  of  character,  302 ;  his  first 
law  case,  303,  304;  his  speech 


on  the  Stamp  Act,  304,  305;  his 
speeches  in  support  of  Ameri¬ 
can  independence,  305-307 ;  his 
speech  on  the  British  refugees, 
307;  his  ridicule  of  John  Hook, 
307,308;  his  personal  appear¬ 
ance  and  manner,  308,  309;  his 
success  in  jury  trials,  310;  com¬ 
pared  with  Chatham,  310. 

House  of  Commons,  the  oratory 
successful  in,  204,  205;  person¬ 
alities  in,  214-219. 

I 

Imagery,  excessive,  106. 

Imagination,  essential  to  the  ora¬ 
tor,  103-107;  repressed  by  the 
din  of  the  age,  107. 

Indignation,  a  stimulus  to  elo¬ 
quence,  221. 

Inspiration,  the  result  of  previous 
toil,  186. 

Instruction,  not  necessarily  inju¬ 
rious  in  oratory,  417-419;  may 
be  over- technical,  418,  4x9. 

Interrogation,  94,  95;  employed 
by  Cicero  and  Demosthenes,  94, 
95. 

J 

Jefferson,  Thomas,  his  voice,  77; 
on  Mirabeau,  92. 

Jeffrey,  Lord,  his  timidity  as  a 
speaker,  148. 

Johnson,  Dr.  Samuel,  not  fitted  for 
oratory,  188. 

K 

Kean,  Edmund,  his  voice,  79;  his 
ignorance  of  elocutionary  rules, 
419,  420,  422. 

Kemble,  John,  anecdote  of,  114. 

Kennedy,  J.  P.,  his  anecdote  of  a 
novitiate,  144. 

King,  Dr.,  165. 

Kirk,  Edward,  D.D.,  his  elo¬ 
quence,  384. 

L 

Labor  the  price  of  excellence,  426. 

Laurence,  Dr.  French,  his  elocu¬ 
tion,  88. 

Law  (Lord  Ellenborough),  60, 


452 


INDEX. 


Lecky,  W.  E.  H.,  on  Grattan’s 
oratory,  288;  on  O’Connell’s, 
296.  ^ 

Legouve,  M.,  his  anecdote  of 
Rachel,  77;  on  the  voice  of 
actors,  78;  on  the  influence  of 
love  on  articulation,  80;  on  M. 
Andrieux’s  voice,  82,  83. 

Lincoln,  Abraham,  his  Gettysburg 
speech,  444. 

Lowell,  J.  R.,  on  Webster’s  elo¬ 
quence,  21. 

Luther,  Martin,  13;  sayings  of, 

221,  259. 

M 

Macaulay,  Lord,  on  the  House  of 
Commons,  48,  205;  not  able  in 
reply,  137;  his  mauvaise  honte , 
149;  his  oratorical  habits,  181; 
on  the  personalities  in  Parlia¬ 
ment,  217 ;  contrasted  with 
Sheil,  Grattan,  and  Burke,  299, 
300;  on  logic  and  rhetoric,  420. 

McDuffie,  of  South  Carolina,  his 
assault  upon  Trimble,  219,  220. 

Mackintosh,  Sir  James,  47,  187, 

201. 

Macready,  William,  444. 

Magnetism,  personal,  111. 

Malibran,  Madame,  79. 

Mansfield,  Lord,  his  lack  as  an 
orator,  112;  cowed  by  Chatham, 
157;  his  translations,  170;  his 
oratory,  173,  213.;  his  study  of 
oratory,  432,  433. 

Marshall,  Thomas,  M.C.,  158. 

Massillon,  22. 

Memorizing  speeches,  176-184. 

Metaphors,  104-106;  Burke’s,  104, 
105;  Curran’s,  105;  Shed’s,  105; 
Plunket’s,  106. 

Mirabeau,  his  oratory.  14,  15;  his 
physical  gifts,  64;  his  voice,  75; 
his  manner,  134, 149;  stimulated 
by  opposition,  157;  his  elocu¬ 
tion,  195;  superbest  in  his  rages, 

222. 

Montalembert,  De,  Count  Charles, 
his  study  of  British  eloquence, 
174;  his  elaboration  of  his 
speeches,  180;  on  his  oratorical 
exercises,  436. 


Monvel,  French  actor,  82. 

Mozart,  saying  of,  422. 

N 

Napoleon  I,  on  his  generalship, 
131;  his  tactics  at  Austerlitz, 
203. 

Naturalness,  how  attained,  185. 

Nature  and  art  in  oratory,  413- 
425. 

North,  Lord,  his  wit,  122,  223. 

O 

O’Connell,  Daniel,  his  massive 
frame,  65;  his  voice,  75;  his  wit, 
121,  122;  his  blarney,  201;  on 
great  speeches,  206 ;  his  elo¬ 
quence  in  Parliament,  206,  207 ; 
his  versatility,  213;  his  coarse 
sarcasms,  225;  his  oratory  de¬ 
scribed,  293-299;  his  skill  as  an 
advocate,  293-295;  his  coarse¬ 
ness  and  power  of  invective, 295 ; 
his  sarcasm  on  Disraeli,  295;  his 
qualities  as  a  popular  orator, 
296-298;  his  merits  and  defects, 
298-299. 

Orator,  the,  qualifications  of,  63- 
139;  both  born  and  made,  66; 
his  physical  qualifications,  63-5, 
69;  vulgar  qualities  sometimes 
useful  to,  70;  knowledge  needed 
by,  72,  73;  his  voice,  73-89, 
power  of  the  “natural,”  92, 
93;  why  the  radical  is  success¬ 
ful,  93;  his  need  of  force,  89- 
102;  his  need  of  imagination, 
103-107 ;  his  need  of  sensibility, 
107-121;  his  need  of  wit,  120- 
125;  his  trials,  140-160;  hiss, 
need  of  presence  of  mind,  150; 
his  need  of  courage  and  pa¬ 
tience,  160;  his  helps,  161-192; 
conviction  his  aim,  173  ;  should 
listen  to  best  speakers,  174; 
aided  by  the  pen,  175-185;  ad¬ 
vised  not  to  memorize  an  en¬ 
tire  speech,  177,  178;  aided  by 
conversation,  190;  needs  self- 
confidence,  190;  aided  by  “un¬ 
conscious  cerebration,”  191;  his 


INDEX. 


453 


use  of  philosophy  and  logic,  196; 
must  often  repeat  his  state¬ 
ments,  196-199;  persuasion  his 
chief  aim,  200 ;  cannot  be  a 
first-rate  man,  202;  causes  of 
his  failures,  208-211;  the  rarity 
of  great  ones,  68,  69;  the  defects 
of  some  celebrated  ones,  69;  two 
classes  of  modern, 70;  great  ones 
appear  in  clusters,  71;  why  ner¬ 
vous  before  audiences,  141-144; 
English  political,  226-267 ;  Irish 
political,  268-300 ;  American 
political,  301-345;  forensic,  346- 
378;  pulpit,  379-406;  contrasted 
with  the  rhetorician,  336,  337. 

Oratory,  its  power  and  influence, 
9-29;  D’Alembert  and  Emer¬ 
son  on,  10;  its  triumphs  imme¬ 
diate,  10;  its  influence  in  Greece 
and  Rome,  11-13;  power  of 
Cicero’s,  12;  its  influence  in  the 
Dark  Ages,  13;  its  triumphs  in 
America,  17-21;  triumphs  of 
sacred,  21-24;  its  power  to-day, 
24-25 ;  not  confined  to  civilized 
lands,  26;  its  perishableness, 
26-29;  not  a  lost  art,  30-62;  its 
supposed  decay  in  France,  31; 
lamentations  on  its  decline,  30, 
31;  the  chief  sources  of,  32; 
Tacitus  on,  33;  Athenian,  33; 
Roman,  33,  34;  contrast  be¬ 
tween  ancient  and  modern,  34- 
45, 52 ;  decline  of  forensic,  36, 37 ; 
ancient  and  modern  forensic  com¬ 
pared,  36-38;  ancient  training 
in,  39;  regarded  by  the  ancients 
as  a  fine  art,  39;  how  affected 
by  the  printing-press,  40,44,  45; 
now  addressed  to  the  general 
public,  42;  the  kind  demanded 
to-day,  42,  48,  49,  100,  101; 
how  affected  by  reporting,  43; 
how  affected  by  party  spirit,  45, 
46;  its  changes  within  a  cen¬ 
tury,  46-48,  59-62;  no  longer  a 
passport  to  office,  47;  Sir  J. 
Mackintosh  and  Canning  on 
Parliamentary,  47;  decried  in 
England,  48;  m  the  House  of 
Commons,  48,  49;  not  now  a 


useless  art,  49-58 ;  its  new  dowry 
of  power,  51;  of  the  platform 
and  lecture-room,  51,  52;  its 
statuary  and  millinery  no  longer 
potent,  52;  why  comparatively 
cold  to-day,  52-54;  its  influence 
not  diminished  in  modern  times, 
54;  its  effects  to-day  gradual, 
55,  56;  how  affected  by  charac¬ 
ter,  56,  57;  its  advantages  to¬ 
day,  57,  58;  change  in  Parlia¬ 
mentary,  58-62;  the  qualifica¬ 
tions  it  demands,  63-139;  comes 
by  inspiration,  66,  67;  examples 
of  spontaneous,  66,  67;  not  the 
result  of  precepts  and  labor 
merely,  67;  Socrates  on,  67;  su¬ 
perior  to  music  and  painting,  97 ; 
when  most  triumphant,  115;  its 
essential  secret  hidden,  129-136 ; 
its  many  varieties,  132,  135; 
test  of  power  in,  136,  137 ;  ef¬ 
fect  of  climate  on,  137-139;  the 
study  of  specimens  commended, 
172-174;  superiority  of  spoken, 
193-200;  its  proper  style,  195; 
lies  in  the  ear  of  the  hearer,  197 ; 
qualities  of  the  Greek,  198;  its 
objects,  200;  may  be  too  pro¬ 
found,  202;  not  always  tested 
by  its  success,  205,  208;  not  re¬ 
cognized  when  perfect,  209-212; 
French  and  English  compared, 
212;  British  during  the  Com¬ 
monwealth,  227;  changes  in 
English,  252;  its  abhorrence  of 
lengthiness  and  philosophic 
discussion,  270-271;  “Web- 
sterian,”  324;  dependent  on  the 
excitement  of  debate,  339;  a 
plea  for  its  culture,  407-446 ;  its 
general  neglect,  407-413;  its 
influence,  407,  408;  neglected 
in  colleges  and  theological  sem¬ 
inaries,  410;  objections  to  its 
study  considered,  413-425;  may 
be  taught  too  technically,  418; 
persons  who  cannot  excel  in  it, 
425;  how  skill  in  it  may  be  at¬ 
tained,  426;  Lord  Chesterfield 
on  skill  in,  428. 

Otis,  James,  his  eloquence,  17. 


454 


INDEX. 


P 

Paganini,  85. 

Palmerston,  Lord,  214. 

Pantomime,  73,  74. 

Parker,  Theodore,  on  impressive 
speaking,  73. 

Parliamentary  oratory,  changes  in 
British,  46-49,  59-62. 

Parsons,  Theophilus,  C.  J.  of 
Mass.,  his  pleading,  210. 

Party  spirit,  its  effects  on  oratory, 
45',  46. 

Peel,  Sir  Robert,  his  power  in 
reply,  137;  assailed  by  Disraeli, 
218,  219. 

Pen,  the,  use  of  commended,  175, 
184. 

Personalities  in  debate,  214-225. 

Philip  of  Macedon,  saying  of,  12; 
his  offer  for  an  orator,  50. 

Phillips,  Wendell,  his  elocution, 
87,  88. 

Pinkney,  William,  his  manner 
when  speaking,  150:  his  atten¬ 
tion  to  literature,  166;  his  use 
of  the  pen,  182;  his  oratory 
characterized,  360-365;  his 
painstaking,  360,  361;  his  study 
of  the  English  language,  360; 
his  vehemence,  361;  his  legal 
arguments,  363;  his  personal 
appearance,  363;  his  haughti¬ 
ness,  363;  his  dandyism,  363, 
364;  his  fondness  for  theatrical 
effects,  364;  extract  from  his 
“  Nereide  ”  argument,  365. 

Pitt,  William,  the  younger,  why 
successful  as  a  speaker,  44;  his 
quotations  from  the  classics,  59, 
60;  his  voice,  74;  his  sarcasm, 
121 ;  his  eloquence  strengthened 
by  his  integrity,  126;  his  stately 
elocution,  134,  242;  his  readi¬ 
ness  in  an  emergency,  154;  his 
reading  of  the  poets,  165;  his 
translations,  170;  his  oratory 
described,  239-251;  his  preco¬ 
city,  239;  his  education  and 
training,  239-241 ;  his  mock  de¬ 
bates,  241;  his  maiden  speech, 
241;  compared  with  Chatham, 
242;  his  sarcasm,  243;  his  ear¬ 


nestness,  ib. ;  described  by  Lord 
North,  243 ;  on  Fox’s  social 
qualities,  250;  denounced  by 
Brougham,  263 ;  rebuked  by 
Sheridan.  277;  his  oratorical 
studies,  431,  432. 

Plunket,  Lord.  106,  180. 

Political  orators,  226,  345. 

Porter,  D.D.,  on  his  voice,  80. 

Preachers,  why  unsuccessful,  109. 

Preaching  defined,  413. 

Prentiss,  Sargent  S.,  138. 

Press,  the,  its  influence  on  oratory, 
40,  44,  45. 

Priestly,  Dr.  Richard,  224. 

Prose,  has  its  melody  as  well  as 
poetry,  164. 

Pycroft,  Rev.  James,  quoted,  472. 

Q 

Quackery  in  elocutionary  teach¬ 
ing,  425. 

Quarterly  Review,  London,  on 
eloquence,  209. 

Quintilian,  on  conversational  pub¬ 
lic  speaking,  81. 

Quotation,  classic,  58-62,  235. 

R 

Rachel,  anecdote  of,  77 ;  her  pains¬ 
taking,  445. 

Randolph,  John,  69. 

Reading,  commended  to  orators, 
161-168. 

Repetition,  in  oratory,  196-199. 

Reply,  power  in,  a  test  of  ora¬ 
torical  force,  136,  137. 

Review,  North  American,  quoted, 
409. 

Reynolds,  Sir  Joshua,  quoted,  427, 
443. 

Rhetoric,  why  in  disrepute,  211. 

Rhetoricians  contrasted  with  ora¬ 
tors,  336. 

Rhythmus,  161-164. 

Robertson,  Rev.  F.  W.,  118. 

Rogers,  Henry,  on  Burke’s  ora¬ 
tory,  271. 

Rome,  its  oratory,  33,  34. 

Rules,  elocutionary,  must  be  fa¬ 
miliarized,  434. 


INDEX. 


455 


Russell,  Lord  John,  213;  his  cour¬ 
tesy,  219. 

s  - 

Sainte-Beuve,  C.  A.,  on  the  voice, 
76,  77;  on  Montalembert’s 
speeches,  180. 

-  Salvini,  the  actor,  quoted,  446. 

Savonarola,  his  eloquence,  22. 

Scarlett,  Sir  James  (Lord  Abin- 
ger),  211. 

Scipio  Africanus,  52. 

Sensibility,  essential  to  the  orator, 
107-120,  143;  excess  of,  116, 
120,  143;  its  veiled  expression 
most  powerful,  118. 

Shakspeare,  quoted,  119. 

Sheil,  Richard  Lalor,  his  voice, 
69;  his  rapid  delivery,  134; 
quotes  Exodus,  168;  his  elab¬ 
oration,  180;  compared  with 
Macaulay,  299. 

Sheridan,  Richard  Brinsley,  his 
ignorance  of  finance,  47;  on 
Rowland  Hill,  109;  on  Fox’s 
earnestness,  112;  his  good  sense 
and  wit,  121;  his  untrustworthi¬ 
ness,  128;  his  failure  in  his  first 
speech,  144;  his  sarcasm  upon 
Brougham,  260;  his  oratory  de¬ 
scribed,  275-286;  criticised  by 
De  Quincey,  276;  "his  appear¬ 
ance  and  manner,  276;  his  wit, 
277,  281-285;  his  rebuke  of  Pitt, 
277;  his  speeches  on  Hastings’s 
impeachment  and  trial,  201, 
278-281;  Byron’s  verses  on, 
275-279;  his  denunciation  of 
the  East  India  Company,  279; 
his  oratorical  defects,  281;  his 
fascination  as  a  speaker,  262; 
his  studied  “improvisations,” 
179,  282-285;  his  intense  toil, 

. 286- 

Siddons,  Mrs.,  the  actress,  114. 

Smith,  Sydney,  on  the  reading  of 
sermons,  43;  on  religious  audi¬ 
ences,  412. 

Socrates,  on  eloquence,  67. 

Speeches,  how  “delivered”  in 
Congress,  43,  44;  the  practice 
of  “  filing,  ”  44. 

Stanley,  Lord  (the  Earl  of  Derby), 


his  speech  on  the  Irish  coercion 
bill,  16;  his  voice,  75;  his  un¬ 
easiness  before  speaking,  149. 

Storrs,  R.  S.,  D.D.,  his  first  ser¬ 
mon  in  Brooklyn,  146. 

Strength,  physical,  necessary  to 
the  orator,  64,  65. 

Style,  influenced  by  the  voice,  81, 
82. 

Success,  as  a  test  of  oratory,  205- 
208. 

Summerfield,  John,  69. 

T 

Tacitus,  on  the  power  of  the  Ro¬ 
man  orator,  41;  quoted,  177. 

Talma,  Madame,  anecdote  of,  77. 

Talma,  the  actor,  his  voice,  79; 
anecdote  of,  98;  saying  of,  118; 
on  “impulsive  acting,”  420. 

Taylor,  Father,  of  Boston,  153. 

Theological  students,  their  igno¬ 
rance  of  elocution,  411. 

Thucydides,  saying  of,  12. 

Ticknor,  Prof.  George,  on  Web¬ 
ster’s  address  at  Plymouth,  19. 

Titian,  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  on, 

100. 

Tooke,  Horne,  his  failure  in  ora¬ 
tory,  188. 

Translation  commended  to  ora¬ 
tors,  168-172. 

Trimble,  of  Ohio,  his  reply  to  Mc¬ 
Duffie,  219,  220. 

V 

Virtue,  its  value  to  the  orator, 
125-128. 

Voice,  the  orator’s,  73-89;  its 
power,  74;  its  cultivation  by 
actors  and  singers, 77, 78;  Sainte- 
Beuve  on,  76,  77;  qualities  of, 
78;  may  be  improved  by  cul¬ 
ture,  79,  82;  care  bestowed  on 
it  by  the  ancient  orators,  81; 
its  connection  with  style,  81; 
distinct  articulation  necessary 
to  its  effectiveness,  82;  our  ig¬ 
norance  of  the  working  of  its 
organs,  83;  comparative  merits 
of  the  bass,  tenor,  and  soprano, 
83-85;  its  loudness  confounded 
with  force,  85;  faults  in  its 


456 


INDEX. 


management,  85-87;  H.  W. 
Beecher  on,  87;  weakness  of 
Cotta’s,  the  Roman  orator,  82. 

W 

Walpole,  Sir  Horace,  on  Fox,  248. 

Walpole,  Sir  Robert,  430,  431. 

Washington,  George,  his  weight 
in  Congress,  128. 

Webster,  Daniel,  Prof.  Geo.  Tick- 
nor  on  his  eloquence  at  Plym¬ 
outh,  19;  his  defense  of  the 
Union  against  Nullification,  20, 
21;  his  speech,  in  1850,  in  Fan- 
euil  Hall,  21;  his  physique,  64; 
his  voice,  76;  his  reply  to  Dick¬ 
inson,  76;  his  eulogy  on  Adams 
and  Jefferson,  76;  his  gestures, 
96;  on  the  Revolutionary  Fa¬ 
thers,  106;  his  success  with  his 
cases,  113;  his  power  in  reply, 
136;  silenced  by  a  Shanghai, 
152;  his  study  of  the  poets,  166; 
his  first  Bunker  Hill  address 
composed  in  part  while  angling. 
285;  his  oratory  characterized, 
323-336;  his  personal  appear¬ 
ance,  323;  described  by  Sydney 
Smith  and  Carlyle,  323;  com¬ 
pared  with  Clay  and  Calhoun, 
323;  the  orator  of  the  under¬ 
standing,  324, 325;  his  boyhood, 
324;  his  first  speech  in  Congress, 
324;  his  strong  common  sense, 
325;  his  reply  to  Choate  in  the 
car- wheel  case,  325;  his  grasp 
of  facts,  326;  not  eloquent  on 
small  occasions,  326;  his  wit  and 
humor,  327;  his  readiness  nt  re¬ 
tort, 327  ;  his  magnetism, 328;  his 
reserved  force,  328;  his  pathos 
329;  his  playfulness,  329;  his 
reading,  329 ;  his  hatred  of  dif¬ 
fuseness  and  bombast,  330;  his 
careful  preparation  for  speak¬ 
ing,  330;  his  abstinence  from 
personalities,  331;  his  reply  to 
Hayne,  331,  333,  334,  440;  his 
account  of  his  feelings  on  that 
occasion,  334;  his  style,  332; 
his  voice  and  action,  332;  his 
self-reliance,  332,  333;  con¬ 


trasted  with  Burke,  395;  his 
preparation  for  his  speeches, 
439,  440;  his  fastidiousness, 
440;  on  “  extemporaneous  ac¬ 
quisition,”  440. 

Wesley,  John,  saying  of,  109. 

Whately,  Richard,  Archbishop, 
on  the  failures  of  public  speak¬ 
ers,  208,  209. 

Whipple,  Edwin  P.,  quoted,  268, 
280. 

Whitefield,  George,  on  the  cold¬ 
ness  of  preachers, 110;  his  elocu¬ 
tion,  195;  dullness  of  his  print¬ 
ed  sermons,  198,  199,  379;  his 
oratory  characterized,  379-391; 
his  precocity,  379;  his  immense 
audiences,  380,  381;  his  suc¬ 
cesses  in  America,  382;  admired 
by  men  of  culture,  382;  moves 
Franklin,  Bolingbroke,  and 
Chesterfield  by  his  eloquence, 
383,  384;  his  earnestness,  384; 
his  physical  and  other  gifts,  385; 
his  vehemence,  385;  his  histri¬ 
onic  talent,  385;  examples  of 
his  eloquence,  386,  387,  390; 
his  philanthropy,  388-389;  Sir 
James  Stephen  on  his  labors, 
390. 

Wilberforce,  William,  69. 

Wirt,  William,  on  the  eloquence 
of  “  The  Blind  Preacher,”  19; 
his  speech  in  the  ‘  ‘  steamboat 
case,”  60-62;  on  classical  quo¬ 
tation,  62;  on  the  style  of  elo¬ 
quence  demanded  to-day,  93, 
94;  anecdote  of,  159;  his  prepa¬ 
ration  for  public  speaking,  438; 
commends  the  study  of  oratory, 
439. 

Wit,  a  qualification  of  the  orator, 
65;  in  oratory,  120-125;  Fox's, 
250. 

Wood,  George,  his  wit,  124,  173. 

Words,  economy  of,  101. 

Writers,  why  they  fail  as  speak¬ 
ers,  186-190,  202. 

Y 

Young,  Dr.  Edward,  his  “Night- 
Thoughts,”  114. 


